Pulitzer's Sinker
by Corky the Quirk
Summary: Sasha Hershun a.k.a. Sinker is the daughter of one of the men working for Pulitzer. When Pulitzer demands she spy on the newsies for him, she's forced to become one herself. But what happens when the King of Brooklyn discovers her secret?
1. Sinker

**Author's Note: **Well, I finally did it! I finally got a chapter of one of my stories up! I hope you all enjoy. This first chapter is setting things up, so it's not going to be amazingly exciting, but stick with it, it gets better! Also, leave feedback! Everybody wants feedback, it's nice!  
**Disclaimer: **No, I do not own any of the Newsies, Sasha a.k.a. Sinker, her father, Tyler, Bradshaw, and Ms. Lardess are mine however...

* * *

Pulitzer paced in his office, glaring down at the street and at the sight of a few newsboys running around, hawking headlines loudly. The newsies were becoming rowdy and reckless, unpredictable; he needed someone to watch them closer, someone to report back to him what was going on. He had proposed this idea to his staff a few days ago, and they had come up with the plan to send in a kid of their own as a newsboy. It was found that one of Pulitzer's doormen had a kid about seventeen who he was always complaining was dirty and seemingly getting into trouble.

Today Pulitzer would meet the boy and brief him on what he was to do—and what would happen if the plans weren't followed without good explanation. There was a knock on the thick wooden door and Pulitzer barked, "Come in!"

His right hand man with the silly facial hair came in, twitching nervously. "Well, sir," he squeaked out, his eyes darting around the room, looking anywhere but at Pulitzer. "The boy we thought we would send in happens to be…"

There was a scuffle outside the door and a relatively high pitched voice was heard saying, "Waddaya mean?!"

A gruff reprimand sent the early talker into silence and the two entered the elaborate office. Pulitzer's eyes bugged, "A girl?" He studied the young woman in front of him.

There was a scowl on her thin lips, her green-brown eyes were downcast and burning holes into his Indian imported rug, her straight chocolate-brown hair hung loose and limp about her heart-shaped face, bangs falling lightly into her almond shaped eyes. She was slender, bordering on skinny, almost no curves, and she was already wearing the outfit that Pulitzer's staff had found for their recruit.

The shorts were a dull grey and ended just below her knees. Her calves were toned and her muscles strained slightly as she shifted from one boot laden foot to the other. The dark green shirt she was wearing had the sleeves pushed up to her elbows and a brown vest finished the outfit. In her fisted hand she held a hat that matched the color of the vest.

"Who is this?" Pulitzer demanded.

"This is my daughter, Sasha," the man who had handed out the scolding in the corridor replied, "I'm Josh Hershun, one of your doormen."

The slight assistant with the anxious look upon his face began to speak, "It so happens that Mr. Tyler, the man that told us of Hershun's son, only _assumed_ he had a son. Apparently the girl is quite boyish…" Sasha jerked toward the quivering man in a threatening manner, which resulted in him gasping and jumping back a little.

Mr. Hershun grabbed Sasha's shoulder painfully tight and shook her hard. She swallowed and went back to staring at the floor. Pulitzer mulled over this bit of information before looking at the three in front of him, then glancing quickly out the window at the busy street below. "We're still sending her in," he informed them. His lust for more money was too powerful to be foiled by such an insignificant setback.

Sasha's head snapped up, her mouth gaping. It wasn't that she minded getting out of her abusive home, it was that Pulitzer was selfish enough to think that he could control her. She hadn't even been asked if she was willing to join in their sick little spy game. Being a newsie was tough, especially for a female. In fact, there weren't any girl newsies in Manhattan. She had seen a sparse few in Queens and Brooklyn, but there were none to be found in Manhattan.

"This afternoon," Pulitzer decided with himself. "I'll have Tyler and Bradshaw get you into the swing of things." He smiled ruthlessly. "Now, all you have to do is keep your eyes and ears open and report back to me."

"And if I don't?" Sasha asked, attempting to be tough.

Her father rounded on her, "I'll tan your hide so that it doesn't heal this time." His eyes seemed red. "I'm getting a pretty little bonus out of this and you will _not_ ruin it for me," he hissed.

Pulitzer smiled through his beard. "We also know how to turn every newsie in New York against you. Loyalty is expected down there on the streets, and if you step out of line, we'll tell them where your loyalties really lie." His eyes were thin slits. "Now get out of my office."

Her father grabbed her roughly by the elbow and dragged her from the room. "Tyler and Bradshaw will meet you at the harbor at one," Pulitzer yelled after them before the door closed with an audible _thud_.

Mr. Hershun slapped his daughter across the face as soon as the doors had shut. "How dare you talk back to Mr. Pulitzer you filthy whore," he growled. "You will do every little thing we ask of you without question, and if something goes wrong, its your head on the chopping block."

Sasha's face was burning from her father's impact. He knocked on a door down the hall. It was opened by a rather plump woman. "Oh, is this the one we're sending then?" she asked, looking down her nose at the sight of what she considered filth standing outside her office door.

Hershun nodded, having done his job of providing a 'newsboy'. "You'll stay with Ms. Lardess until it's time for you to meet Tyler and Bradshaw at the docks," her father grunted, then turned and left.

Sasha looked at the woman in front of her, "I'm sorry, was that LardASS?"

Ms. Lardess's eyes widened in rage. "Get in here and sit down," she commanded. "And don't touch anything!" Ms. Lardess sniffed. "It's bad enough that you act like a boy."

Sasha sneered. "Whatever," she mumbled, settling into a cushioned chair to wait until she was to voyage down to the harbor.

* * *

"You're going to do _what_ with me?" Sasha yelled in disbelief, staring over the side of the boat that Tyler and Bradshaw had carried her on, looking at the cold waves that splashed up at them.

"We're to throw you'se off the side," Bradshaw repeated.

Sasha gulped, terrified. "But I can't swim," she protested.

"Then you'se best make a fuss as we trow ya," Tyler grinned maliciously. "Cause then maybe dat newsie'll help ya out." He pointed to a boy selling papers on the dock. His dark curly hair concealed underneath his tan hat. The wind blew, chilly, and he rubbed his bare legs together as he continued to sell his papers.

"What if he doesn't?" Sasha asked worriedly.

Bradshaw chuckled, "Then you'd best learn fast."

The two burly men grabbed her wrists as she struggled against them, "Let me go!" she screamed, her voice cracking in panic.

"She's a feisty one," Tyler commented, grunting with the effort to control her. They heaved the squirming girl over the boat's railing.

"NO!" she screeched as she was dangled precariously over the raging waves.

"Have fun," Bradshaw said, then, nodding to Tyler, they released their captive from their grip.

Sasha plummeted towards the water, shrieking all the way until she hit the waves with a slap. She was instantly engulfed.

Drowning. To feel the freezing grasp of death in the water, needing air that's impossible to find and finding only more and more water. The deeper Sasha plunged, the more that pressure pushed against her already compact ribcage. She frantically clawed for the surface, for a savior. Breaching the water she sputtered and choked until she was sucked back down.

This time though, she felt a hand encircle her wrist, dragging her out of the hell on earth. She blinked the water out of her eyes as she tried to focus on whoever had rescued her from the depths. Sure enough, it was the curly-haired newsie from the dock. "Hold onto me," he yelled over the wind and waves. Sasha nodded, clinging to his back.

He headed toward the dock with strong strokes, then miraculously hoisted her up onto the wood, climbing up after her. Sasha was still choking up her lungs when the boy breathlessly introduced himself, "I'm Mush Meyers." He spat in his hand.

She raised an eyebrow, then repeated his gesture. Taking his hand she replied, "Sasha…Cohen." At least she thought that was the name she had been instructed to use.

"Nice ta meetchya," he said, tipping his soaking wet hat and smiling genuinely. "So, Sinker," he said with a wink, "who were those two goons that fed ya to da sharks?"

The newly christened Sinker shrugged, "Enemies of mine."

Mush took the hint and changed the subject, "So, where ya headed?"

Sinker thought for a second. "I don' know," she answered. "I'm looking for a job…as a Newsie."

Mush looked her over skeptically, then offered, "Well, I can help you with that."

"Thanks," Sinker grinned.

He nodded. "Jus let me finish selling these papes and we'll go find Jack," he told her.

Sinker shrugged, as if to say okay, then sat down to recover and study Mush. He was taller then her and obviously strong. His muscles showed through his tight shirt. Pulitzer's voice echoed though her head. _We'll turn the newsies against you._ She shivered at the memory from that morning. She'd be dead before she could read the headline if the newsies decided to off her.

She felt trapped.

"Sinker? Hello?"

Sinker looked up, startled. Mush had finished selling his last few papers and was now standing above her, a smile spreading across his handsome face.

"Sorry," she mumbled, scrambling to stand up.

"It's okay," Mush assured, lazily slinging his arm across her shoulders in a friendly way. "Now, let's go find Jack, he tends to sell around the boxers, but since he probably sold faster than me today, what with having to save you—" he grinned down at her as she blushed in embarrassment—"he's probably at the square outside the distribution office."

As they made their way through Manhattan, Sinker created a mental map in her mind. She'd have to be alone eventually, and she sure as shit didn't want to get lost.

"There he is!" Mush suddenly exclaimed as they neared the square. He took off happily toward the crowd of equally good looking boys hanging around a statue of a man sitting in an elegant chair.

She took in the group, sizing them up carefully. There was the one with the eye patch that she had seen a couple times before, as always, he seemed to be in a good mood, his huge smile plastered on his cute face and dirty blonde hair falling into his eyes…or rather _eye_.

The one with the crutch typically sold a block down from her house. He too, always seemed cheery and kind.

There was a dark-haired boy dealing cards with a cigar sticking out of his mouth, which was curved into a wry smile. The boys he was dealing to seemed wary, yet thrilled. One looked dull and a little angered, but he nodded to the dealer all the same. Another kept brushing his thumb across the bottom of his lips, as if to stick it into his mouth, but then deciding against it.

There were three younger boys, each short and fighting each other with sticks playfully.

Lastly, she looked at the pair that Mush was now talking to. One of the boys had curly honey-brown hair and bright blue eyes that were amplified by his blue shirt. The other, taller boy, Jack she guessed, looked like the leader of the bunch. He was nodding his head and talking to Mush, who turned and yelled, "C'mere Sink!"

Sinker approached the group slowly, a small smile appearing across her face. "Hiya," she said quietly, no longer the tough girl she had pretended to be in Pulitzer's office.

"Sinker," Mush began, "This is Jack and Davey, over there is Blink and Crutchy." Pointing to the gamblers he said, "That's Racetrack—" the boy with the cigar nodded, grinning—"Skittery and Snitch."

One of the young boys came up to her. "I'm Les," he smiled gaily.

"I'm Sinker," Sinker said as the little one hugged her impulsively around the middle. Sinker glanced around at the rest of the boys, who stared, flabbergasted, at Les's odd behavior, before she gingerly wrapped her still damp arms around the younger boy.

Once he had released her, Les pointed to the other boys, "This is Boots and Snipeshooter."

Sinker raised her hand in a small wave.

Mush came over and stood next to her, "Sinker's lookin' for a job as a newsie, think we can help her out?"

Jack smiled and spit in his hand, extending it toward her he said, "O' course we can"

Sinker repeated the action, grasping his hand firmly. This had gone better than she had thought it would.

"You got a place to stay?" Jack asked, and when Sinker shook her head Jack looked around the bunch of boys. "Blink!" he called to the eye-patched boy.

"Yes sir," Blink said mockingly with a huge grin, standing straight.

Jack smiled warmly back, "We don't have extra bunks, so Sinker here is gonna have to share with someone." It was obvious where this was going.

Blink's grin stayed the same, much to Sinker's surprise. She thought he'd be upset over the prospect of having to share his bunk. "I'd be honored," he said dramatically, then he bowed to Sinker, who couldn't help but laugh. "M'lady?" He extended his arm for her.

Mush spoke, "When you're done showing her around the lodging house, we're all meeting for dinner at Tibby's."

"Alright!" Blink smiled, then began leading Sinker in the opposite direction. "You ever sold papes before?" Blink began to converse.

Sinker shook her head, "Nope."

"Well, no worries," Blink assured her. "Jack will probably show you the ropes tomorrow, or send you off with one of us."

"That's good to know," Sinker said.

"Hey, us kids gotta stick together, right?" he reassured her with another one of his winning smiles.

Sinker nodded as they continued in amiable silence. She stared at the ground. How could she possibly report back to Pulitzer after what these boys were doing for her? She felt more accepted by them than by her own family. As she was led into the lodging house and shown her and Blink's bunk, an overwhelming sense of dread began to come over her.

She was definitely trapped.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well there you have it! Now this is the part where I plead and beg and get down on my knees, asking for reviews. Seriously, anything you want to say will be appreciated. Constructive criticism, praise, whatever! Just let me know what you think and if you have any ideas that you think would be interesting to incorporate into this story! Thanks!  
-Corky :D


	2. Imaginary Puddle

**Author's Note: **Hey guys, I'm sooooo sorry that it's been so long! But I had a nice long chat with one of my friends and she got me back on track! So I thank her and give her credit for a few ideas in the story! I also thank you guys for your reviews and for your patience, I know how frustrating it can be waiting for a dying story to revive itself! Well here is the second chapter (finally!) of Pulitzer's Sinker, I hope you like it! :D

**Disclaimer:** Sinker is mine :P

* * *

Sinker sighed to herself, shifting on the warm bed that she was snuggled in. It wasn't until the bed sighed as well that she remembered where she was. Her eyes shot open and her head snapped up. She was spread out across Blink's torso, his arm wrapped around her midsection comfortably.

Kloppman had entered, yelling for the newsies to wake up and begin their day. Blink stirred underneath her, "Mornin'," he grinned.

"'Ey Blink!" A pillow was launched in their direction, hitting Sinker. Mush loped over, "Ooo, sorry Sink, I meant ta hit Blinky boy."

"It's okay—" Sinker stopped mid-sentence. She had made the error of looking at Mush. Shirtless Mush. Wonderfully, amazingly, toned Mush. She shook her head to clear her mind, but it did no good.

Mush didn't seem to notice as he grabbed her by the hand, dragging her off of Blink and out of bed. He led the way towards the wash room, where all of the newsies got ready in the mornings. Skittery and Snitch stepped forward.

"Mush, uh, not ta be rude or nothin', but Sink kinda can't go in there right now," Snitch said.

"Ya know, some a the boys don' have no clothes on at the moment," Skittery warned, gesturing at his own body to make a point.

Mush's eyes suddenly sparked with realization. "Oh yeah! It's just been so long since we've had a goil newsie around that I wasn't really thinkin'," he explained, then looked back at Sinker apologetically.

Sinker shrugged. "I can just wait until you guys are done," she said, pushing Mush gently in the direction he had been leading her. He smiled over his shoulder before finally going to clean up.

Once every boy was ready and set to go, Sinker entered the foul smelling, grimy wash room. She gingerly picked up what looked to be the cleanest rag around and washed herself quickly, drying off on a used and dank towel. She pulled on her newsie attire and bolted down the stairs, where Blink and Mush were waiting patiently, talking about past headlines and girls they had previously met.

"Jack had ta be first in line, bein' the leadah 'n all," Blink informed her as they strolled through the streets, Sinker between the two boys.

Mush slung an arm over her shoulders like he had done yesterday. "So we volunteered ta stay back and help you'se find ya way." He smiled down at her and she found herself becoming increasingly fond of both newsies she was with.

Together the boys pointed out different landmarks, told Sinker where each newsie usually sold, and by the time they had arrived at the distribution center, Sinker knew where the hottest spots to sell were. Jack had already bought his papers for the day and was waiting outside the gates with Davey and Les, talking to Racetrack.

"There ya are!" Jack grinned as he saw the trio coming closer. "Took ya time, huh? Anyway, I'm thinkin' you'se can be Blink's sellin' partner, Sink, since you'se looked so cozy this mornin'." He laughed, winking at the blushing pair. Race and Mush chuckled, throwing playful punches at Blink while Sinker fiddled with her hat. Jack clapped her on the shoulder. "I'se just jokin' around. Now, Race, could ya spare some for Sinker here ta buy her first papes?"

"Sure thing," the cigar smoking newsie nodded, flipping her a coin.

She caught it, smiling gratefully, "Thanks."

Race shrugged, "Anytime doll. But I'se gotta get goin' ta the track, me regulahs will start ta wondah if I don' show."

"We're off too," Davey said, tipping his hat.

As he, Jack, and Les headed off Jack yelled back, "Blink'll take care a ya!"

Sinker looked back toward the gates. Blink, Mush, and she were among the last newsies to buy their papers that day. As they were waiting in line Mush informed her that the money Race had lent her was enough to buy twenty papers. He glanced over the headlines for the day, Blink leaning over both of their shoulders to catch a glimpse.

"Twenty." Mush ordered, handing over his change.

Sinker stepped up next, repeating Mush's steps. When she brought her eyes up to see who was handing her the papers, she lowered her head instinctively. Mr. Wiesel and the Delancey brothers! She didn't realize that _this_ was the distribution center they ran. She had heard them complain continuously about the newsies, but it had never registered that they might possibly sell _here_. She pulled her hat down as low as she could while still being able to see and snatched her papers up, grunting out her thanks in a low voice that she hoped would allow her to slip past unnoticed. She bounded down the steps to where Mush stood, waiting for Blink to purchase his papers.

Sinker looked back fleetingly and found that Mr. Wiesel and the brothers hadn't even looked up. She breathed a sigh of relief. Life would be hell if Oscar and Morris found out she was selling papers with their mortal enemies. Ever since she was little she remembered having to be forced to play with the two brothers, and ever since they had started working with Wiesel they had done nothing but complain about the newsie scum.

Blink's feet thumping down the wooden steps shook her from her memories. "Well," Mush said in farewell, "I'm off ta Bottle Alley, see ya tonight!"

Blink nodded, and Sinker waved. "I think we'll sell over on Hinkley today, it's usually busy," Blink mused, leading Sinker in the opposite direction that Mush had dashed in. On the way, he opened up one of the papers, searching for a relatively good headline. "Now the trick ta sellin'," he began to explain, "is that you'se gotta know how ta embellish the headlines."

"Embellish?" Sinker looked up at him, surprised by his vocabulary. "I didn't know you'se used such fancy words."

Blink grinned. "I had some schoolin' 'fore I left home." He pointed to her papers. "Now try to work on those headlines while we go along," he instructed.

Sinker shifted her papers to the other arm so that she could peruse the news. Nothing that she deemed creative enough came to mind, and she blushed sheepishly up at Blink. He laughed, "Yeah, it ain't as easy as it seems, but with my patch, and your height, we'll get lucky."

"Hey! I'm average height," Sinker defended herself.

"For a girl," Blink somehow managed to wink. "Now tuck your hair into that cap and you'll look like a young fellah."

Sinker looked at him in bewilderment. "You want me to pretend I'm a boy?"

"Ya wanna sell those papes don't ya?" Blink asked rhetorically, extending his arm to hold her papers as she adjusted her hair. "Poifect."

They had reached Hinkley Lane by that time, and Sinker tried to take in everything that Blink did. He was a professional at the paper business. His headlines were genius and she couldn't even compare with her feeble attempts. Blink had sold his papers within the first hour. "Wow, today was bettah than I thought it would be," he exclaimed excitedly.

Sinker looked down at the dozen papers she had left. "Yeah…" she half-heartedly agreed.

Blink smiled. "Don't worry, there's a whole crowd of hoity-toities headin' this way, go sell ya socks off," and he shoved her into the street encouragingly. She looked back at him like a child peers back at their parents on the first day of kindergarten, eager yet unsure. Blink nodded and motioned for her to go forward.

Determined, she looked back around to face the oncoming crowd. "'Scuse me gents, but would you happen ta need a pape?" she asked politely. "Mighty facinatin' bit about a bloody murdah over in Trenton." The men took the bait, five of them buying individual papers.

She hurried off to a group of finely dressed women before the well-to-do business men realized there really wasn't an article about a murder, let alone a murder at all. Sinker found it was easier for her to completely invent a story rather then improve on an actual one. "'Ello ladies! Fancy readin' about the latest scandal with the mayor's daughter? She's apparently runnin' with a newsboy now." The women grabbed up four papers. Sinker smirked. She had thought that up thanks to Blink, who had gone on and on about how beautiful he thought the mayor's daughter was and how he wished he could take her out for just one Saturday night.

She returned to where Blink stood with three papers left. "Not bad," he complimented. He took the papers and practically gave them away, so easy he made it look. Sinker gawked at his talent as he handed her the pennies, then chuckled at her expression.

"C'mon, let's go ta Tibby's, that's where we newsies all go," he said.

As the duo made their way back to the newsies regular spot, Sinker's hair now free from under her cap, they joked around, Blink filling Sinker in on a few newsie tricks. Sinker was laughing when she looked up to see the Delancey's ahead. Her heart pounded hard in her chest and she searched in panic for some sort of get away. She noticed that Blink and she were approaching an alley, and as they passed, she grabbed Blink by the collar, pushing him into the alley and up against the wall. She didn't think about how odd it was of her to be pressed up against him until he warily said, "I didn't think ya wanted me like this…"

She had been staring at the area the Delancey's occupied and not paying much attention to Blink until he spoke, then she whipped her head around to look Blink in the face. She hadn't realized the proximity between them until their noses touched. She blushed, releasing him and taking a step back. "Sorry," she apologized, glancing back out, spotting the Delancey's moving away. "There, uh, there was a puddle…"

"And ya didn't wanna drown?" he smirked.

"No! I, er, didn't want ya ta get your feet wet?"

Blink chuckled, "Oh, okay."

"Yeah, well, it seems to have, um, evaporated…so we can go now," she told him, since she could no longer spy the brothers on the street.

They exited the alley in an awkward silence, neither one looking at the other, each with their hands in their pockets. From behind, a voice rang out, "Sasha?!"

"Oh, shit," Sinker swore under her breath, recognizing Morris's voice. It wasn't long before the Delancey's had caught up with her and Blink.

Blink immediately clenched his fists, preparing for the worst when the brothers stepped in front of him and Sinker, cutting off their way.

"Whaddaya doin' hangin' with this bum?" Oscar demanded, sneering at Blink, who frowned at the boy, since Blink was incapable of a sneer, such a kind hearted being he was.

"I'm selling papes," she glared at Oscar. "Ya gotta problem with that?"

Oscar returned his attention to Sinker. "You're with the wrong crowd Sasha," he warned.

Blink stepped closer, flexing his fingers. Sinker quickly got in between the boys, facing Blink, "Blink. Let it go. It's alright."

"Yeah, Blink," Oscar soothed mockingly, brushing past. "It's alright." He snaked an arm over Sinker's shoulder, who shrugged him off. "Well, Sasha, come crawlin' back to where you belong when you get sick of playin' newsie."

Morris snickered as the two slinked away from Blink and Sinker, both glaring at the brother's backs.

"How d'ya know those scabs?" Blink broke the silence.

Sinker never took her eyes off the brothers. "Old family friends, our parents run in the same circles," she replied quietly.

"Oh, tough luck," Blink shook his head. Then looking down at her coyly, "So…Sasha?" he teased.

Sinker punched him lightly in the arm. "Don't you call me that!" she laughed.

"Okay, okay!" Blink lifted his hands in surrender.

"And if you tell any a the boys," she warned jokingly, "I'll tan ya hide!"

They chuckled together as they continued on down the road, but what she had just said reminded her too much of her father, and of what her real job was…

* * *

**Author's Note:** Okay, so there it is. I also want to let you know that I have the next two chapters plotted out, I just have to find time to write them! Thanks for your waiting again, I realize this took forever to get up! Oh, and Spot also makes his first appearance in the next chapter ;) so thats good! yay!


	3. A Poker Winning Gone to the Head

**Author's Note:** Well, thankfully this was up waaaaaaay earlier than I put up chapter two, ha ha, and Spot makes his first appearance! and there's also lots of Blink! yay for them! they rock my socks! And thank you for all the wonderful reviews! they make me quite happy :D

**Disclaimer:** Sinker is mine...sadly I don't own Blink, Mush OR Spot...nor do I possess the rest of the newsies

* * *

Sinker walked around the crowded and deafening Irving Hall by herself. It was when Blink and she arrived that afternoon at Tibby's that they had learned of the spur-of-the-moment party that Manhattan was throwing at Medda's. Now that it was in full swing she was having trouble finding any newsies that she knew well enough to hang around with. Blink and a couple of the other boys had stayed back at the lodging house longer than the rest in order to get ready, for all of them were set on getting a girl. Sinker rolled her eyes. Boys. She couldn't find Mush anywhere; he had disappeared almost immediately when they had arrived. Jack was off talking to Medda with David, who was unable to take his eyes off the performer. Little Les was grabbing as much food as ha could from what Medda had set out on tables for the newsies. Most of the other newsies she only recognized and couldn't place a name.

Just as she was about to give up on the party, someone at the table she had just passed called out her name. Turning, she saw Racetrack grinning up at her. He held a deck of cards and seemed profusely happy. "I'll deal ya in," he smooth-talked, patting the chair between him and Snitch.

Sinker obliged, and then looked up at the third boy at the table, seated directly across from her. His cool grayish-blue eyes were already upon her, calculating something. He smirked as he leaned back in his chair, the red suspenders he wore straining with his movement. "Prepare ta lose," he informed her slickly.

She raised an eyebrow, picking up the cards Race had set in front of her. "A'right," Race's voice boomed around his cigar. "We'se bettin' on the cards you'se hold in ya hands. Ya all in?"

Snitch threw his weak hand on the table, shaking his head and crossing his arms, staring at Sinker to see what she would do. Sinker glanced down at her cards, nodding. "I'm in," she glared across the table, right at the calm and unfazed newsie.

Race did the same as Snitch had done with his cards, only with more anger and zest. All eyes rested upon the newsie that Sinker didn't recognize. His smirk came easily as he nodded his involvement.

Sinker laid her cards down at the same time the boy did. A triumphant smile broke across her face as she collected the few pennies she had earned. Brave from her win she mocked the boy sitting across the table before thinking. "I'm sorry, but what was that ya said about 'preparing ta lose'? Yeah, maybe ya shoulda took ya own advice." She grinned, not that it had been the wittiest statement she had ever uttered, but because the boy's reaction was amusing.

At first, hate flashed across his face, hardening his eyes, but just as fast a cool, calm came over him. He gained his composure, then shrugged, the smirk returning yet again.

It wasn't until she noticed the bystanding newsie's expressions and comments that Sinker began to feel hideously uncomfortable. Race's cigar had dropped from his mouth and was laying, smoldering, on the cards before him. He couldn't seem to decide who to watch: the boy or Sinker. Snitch looked to be doing some sort of 'potty-dance' where he was seated, clearly wanting to get away. The whispers were discomforting as well.

"Did you _hear_ what she said?"

"And to _him_ of all people!"

The smirking boy stood up, and Sinker felt the need to stand as well. "I'm Spot Conlon. The King of Brooklyn," he stated. Sinker froze, horrified. Even _she_ knew of Spot and the respect he had among the newsie world. Spot spit in his palm. "And that was a nice hand ya had." He grinned, extending his arm to be shook, relieving the tension in the area.

"Lucky," Sinker heard Race mutter under his breath as the two shook hands.

Sinker's face was burning form embarrassment. "Sorry, about that…" she apologized quietly. "I'm not usually so…rude. I guess it just went to my head for some reason…"

Spot waved her words away casually, coming around the table. "Don't worry 'bout it," he said, offering her his arm and leading her over to where drinks were being served.

They leaned against the table, surveying the crowd as they sipped their drinks. "So," Spot spoke up, breaking the silence between them. "Whaddaya doin' as a newsie? Obviously you'se have no idea what you'se is doin', considerin' ya didn' even know me."

Sinker peered over at the leader. "Well whaddaya doin' in 'Hattan if you'se is the leadah of Brooklyn?" she asked, avoiding Spot's question.

Spot noted her avoidance, but let it go, figuring he could always delve into it later. "In case ya haven't noticed, this is a party, half the newsies heah are from Brooklyn. Plus, 'Hattan and Brooklyn are close associates. We'se always getting' tagethah," he told the new girl. "So you'se best get used ta seein' me."

The way Spot said the last sentence made goose bumps rise upon Sinker's skin. She couldn't decipher whether or not his tone was jokey or threatening. His haughty smirk made her quite uncomfortable and the way he slowly raked his eyes up and down her figure made her squirm. He licked his lips slowly after taking a swig of the drink in his hand, never once taking his eyes off of Sinker. "Ya wanna dance," he asked, making the simple question sound like a dare.

No. No she did _not_ want to dance with Spot. Something about the way his smirk was, something about the way he carried himself as a superior being, something about the way that his eyes _always_ had a hint of coldness in them, sent her stomach to churning oddly. And Sinker wasn't sure if it was good or not.

She tore her eyes from his for a second, catching sight of a slightly tipsy Mush bouncing past. She grabbed his arm. "Mush! 'Ey!" she yelled to get his further attention.

He blinked a few times in the dim light, then happily exclaimed, "SINK!" attacking her in a sweaty bear hug, crushing the air out of her with his muscular arms.

Spot watched this all with a cool air about him, not shaken a bit at Sinker's obvious, soon-to-be, refusal. This didn't deter Spot in the least; if anything, this rejection fueled Spot's competitive nature, and this made him smirk all the more.

Sinker, once released from Mush's vice grip, turned back to Spot with a shrug, "Aw, too bad, I forgot I had promised Mush a dance…maybe next time!" She shoved Mush, who had been standing, very confused, trying to figure out when Sinker had promised him a dance, through the crowd.

"When did ya say you'se was gonna dance with me?" Mush asked, scratching his head.

"Oh, uh, this morning," Sinker hastily replied.

Mush nodded in understanding, then came to a dead stop. "We didn' have the party planned this morning…" He furrowed his brow, trying to remember.

Sinker glanced back to the drink table. Spot was still there, smirking, and he winked, lifting his glass as if to toast her, then took a long, hearty drink. He smiled back at her, lips wet. Sinker returned her attention to Mush frantically, "Oh, well ya must not recall!"

Mush frowned. "Maybe you're right…"

Sinker pushed the boy further into the masses. She could feel Spot's eyes following the pair, so she dragged Mush to the front doors, just in time to meet the second wave of newsies heading for the party, gaily led by Kid Blink, who was grinning form ear to ear. He put an arm around each of their shoulders. "Mush," he said questioningly, "Ain't this ya favorite song?"

Mush looked around, "Yeah, yeah it is…"

Blink cocked his head, "Then whaddaya doin' leavin'?"

"I wasn't leavin'…" the poor newsboy looked at the entrance doors that he had been heading towards. "I—I—I… I'm just so confused!" Mush clasped his hands to his head, not understanding what was going on.

Blink patted him on the shoulders. "Oh, Mush, I told ya ta lay off the drinks…" He shook his head at the boy tweaking out. He steered Sinker and Mush back in the direction of the party, in which Mush took off sprinting, laughing joyously and belting out the words along with Medda, forgetting all discomfort he had previously been in.

Sinker couldn't help but smile at her new-found happy-go-lucky friend. Then, realizing that Blink was still directing her towards the open hall, she halted, protesting, "Blink, I think I'm gonna—"

"Oh, c'mon, one dance," Blink faced her, showing his winning smile.

Sinker shrugged, her resolve fading, "I don' know, I'm kinda tired…"

Blink settled his hands on her shoulders. "One dance and I'll walk ya back ta the lodgin' house meself," he promised.

Sinker stared him straight in the eye. "One dance," she agreed, holding up her pointer finger for emphasis.

Blink smiled, offering her his arm so that he could escort Sinker through the party. She shook her head, but laughed none-the-less, allowing herself to trail behind Blink until they found a space on the floor. Medda was beginning a slow ballad, much to Blink and Sinker's surprise.

Blink gave her a sheepish look. "Er…" he didn't know what to say. Hesitantly, Sinker took the lead, wrapping her arms around his neck. Blink shyly let his hands rest on her slight hips, blushing as he did so, making Sinker's cheeks turn pink as well.

"So, uh, why was it ya wanted ta leave again?" Blink started saying as they swayed in place.

"Tired," she replied automatically.

"Oh," Blink nodded, looking around the room absently.

Something about Blinks' sweet demeanor triggered an impulse in Sink. She had the sudden urge to open up and tell him why she really wanted to leave, and not some stupid story involving fatigue. She cleared her throat, catching Blink's attention. "Um, actually, I wanted to leave because of Spot," she quietly confided in Blink.

Blink was taken aback. "Did he do somethin' ta ya?" he demanded worriedly.

"No, no!" Sinker quickly set Blink straight. "He just, uh, makes me a little noivous."

Blink chuckled, "He has that effect on people."

* * *

Five songs later and the duo were _still_ dancing with each other. Spot was perched up in one of the balconies, eating an apple, and watching the masses with the eyes of a man much older than the boy whom possessed them. Yet his thought process, even he admitted, was a bit juvenile.

The jealously he felt for Blink burned through him, flustering him to no end. He had only just met Sinker, and her rejection hadn't fazed him—or so he wanted to think. And yet deep down, he knew that it had wounded his usually impenetrable pride.

His eagle eye honed in on Blink and Sinker again. They were considerably closer now than when they had awkwardly started out. There was less than an inch between their bodies and never once did their eyes wander as they muttered whatever it was that they were saying to each other. The lovey dovey shit made Spot grimace. He wasn't one to go for that. He was much more of a one-nighter guy. And the girls he associated with had no problems with that. Of course, they never said no to him either…

* * *

"Blink?"

The edges of the newsboy's mouth curved skyward. "Hmm?"

Sinker gulped, unsure if the topic she was about to venture into was sensitive or not. "Are ya really…ya know…do ya really only have…one eye?" she wanted to look away, but Blink's baby blue held her gaze.

He didn't answer right away and she felt a painful twist in her stomach. She was such an idiot! Why did she have to let her big ole mouth blurt out _that_ question? Out of the millions she could have asked, she just _had_ to have let that one fly. Before she could blubber out an apology, Blink spoke.

"Yeah, I'se only got one eye," he whispered, Sinker leaned in closer to hear, their noses barely touching. "I got inta a tussle when I was youngah, didn' really know what I was doin'." He gave a light chuckled. "It's all fun 'n games till someone loses an eye." Then a question that had burned into his brain after Sinker had asked about his eye popped out. "Does it mattah? Does it change anythin'? Knowin' that I don' have an eye, that I ain't just wearin' the patch for sellin' papes. Does it mattah?" His tone was so sorrowful, as if begging her to say no.

Sinker found herself tracing Blink's face with her right hand, caressing his cheek. Blink pressed his face to her palm. Slowly, Sink moved her fingertips up to the patch, gently outlining its edges. Blink closed his one eye, marveling at how pleasing it felt to be touched so innocently, so simply like that.

"No," she whispered. "It doesn't mattah."

Blink's eyelid fluttered open. He looked into her eyes, those beautiful almond-shaped eyes of hers, and then pressed his lips to hers. For once, Sinker didn't tense up or over think; for once, she let go of everything else and enjoyed this moment with Blink. She sighed, kissing him back.

Spot spit from the balcony, catching a small newsie in orange on the head, sending him running in hysterics to Skittery, yelling about how the sky was falling.

* * *

**Author's Note:** The end of chapter three! lol, I had to had that last sentence to make me feel better about the ending being so mushy (and no, not our favorite ab-adorned curly haired cutie who desperately wants a pair of shoes with matching laces!) So leave a review and chapter four will be on its way! ;)


	4. Cognitive Dissonance

**Author's Note:** Here is the fourth chapter, in which we get to meet a new character, hear a diabolical plan, and see Spot run, okay, no, we don't have that last part, but the point is, Spot is in a majority of this chapter, and he is mean, which makes me sad, because I always like where he's a softy, but for this chapter, he's an arrogant prick concerned only with himself, for the time being. Also, the chapter title: _Cognitive Dissonance_ is a psychology term meaning that a person's actions don't match up with how they feel, causing said person great stress or guilt, which is what goes on with one of our characters. Just thought I'd let ya know, cuz it's a recent term for me and I probably wouldn't have known it...

**Disclaimer:** Sinker and Trip and eventually (next chapter) Speed belong to me!

* * *

Trip was lying across Spot's bed on her stomach. She had her head propped up in her ink-stained hands. She was a plain girl with pale blue eyes and mousy hair that was constantly wound into two braided pigtails that hung below each ear. But she was brilliant, and that was why Trip was Spot's right hand man, or rather, woman.

She watched as the Brooklyn leader paced around his private room, a thoughtful look upon his face. He had a challenge before him that needed to be met. The competitive nature in him would not let the fact go that he had been turned down by a girl. And for Kid Blink of all newsies! The boy was missing an eye for crying out loud!

"Ya gonna tell me what ya called me heah for?" Trip prodded, quickly becoming bored.

Spot stopped walking. "I need ta get Blink outta the pictcha…" he began thoughtfully, stroking his chin. "Then I'se can swoop in an' get 'er."

Trip shook her head. "Spot, let it go. You'se'll only sleep wit' 'er for a night, then drop 'er," she pointed out.

Spot gave her a blank look. "Yeah? So?" he asked, as if there was nothing wrong or immoral with Trip's statement.

"Nevahmind," Trip mumbled as Spot resumed his pacing. At least he knew how it felt now, pining after someone. The only difference between the two was that Spot was pining with lust, and Trip with love. She couldn't pin-point the exact date she had lost her heart to Spot, not that he or any other newsie knew. To Spot, Trip was just his loyal pawn, to be played at the opportune moment in the game.

This hurt Trip more than the fact that Spot had seemed to have forgotten she was a girl. She was never treated like one, and things that Spot usually didn't do or say around a girl were in her daily life. Once or twice the King of Brooklyn had even introduced her to a few ladies at a party, then walked away, as if he had succeeded in setting up one of his friends on a hot date.

"Ya know," Spot began. "No goil has evah said no ta me befoah…I don' like it. _All_ the goils want me. I mean…I've been with every goil in Brooklyn practically…"

Trip coughed in correction. "Um, not every goil," she said, slightly annoyed.

For a moment confusion shone in his stormy eyes, then they sparked with an idea. His smirk appeared, twisted on his face. Trip recognized the expression. "What ya come up with for a plan?" she inquired.

"You'se a goil," Spot said, looking Trip over blandly.

"Really?" she sarcastically questioned.

Ignoring her, he grinned, then drew a box out from underneath his bed. It was rather small and tattered. Whatever was in it must have been of little importance to Spot, because he carelessly dropped it upon the bed, beside Trip's face. She glanced down at it skeptically.

"Open it," he ordered.

Trip rolled her eyes and lifted the flaps of the tiny box. Various kinds of make-up were strewn about: eyeshadows, charcoal, lipsticks, blush. "Um, Spot, why do ya have _make-up_ hidden undah ya bed?"

Spot grinned. "Some goils are forgetful. Leavin' their stuff all ovah," he explained.

"Why are ya takin' it out…?"

Spot's eyes were hard, cold, and mischievous as he hovered over her. "It's time ya start actin' like a goil."

* * *

Trip had never worn make-up before, and she did not take a liking to it. She felt like a circus clown as she entered Manhattan, walking about the streets meekly. She had a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her conscience would never let her forget the task Spot had sent her on.

A new ache was swelling in her heart. She had got used to the old pain of wanting Spot to notice her as something more than a subordinate sidekick, but now he was using her, the girl that loved him unconditionally, to try to get at Sinker, a newsie that had merely rejected dancing with him. Not only that, but she hated the thought of leading Blink on. He was one of those guys who deserved none of the bad things that happened to him.

Trip was friends with most Manhattan newsies, what with her untraditional softness for a Brooklynite. She really wasn't like her fellow newsies at all, and sometimes she wondered why she never left Brooklyn. And then Spot would come into view, her heart would pound wildly, and she would remember her reason for staying. Trip was unable to understand what it was about Spot that made her feel the way she did. He was cold and cruel and scheming, and that's what made him the best and most respected leader around. But he wasn't kind. Charming and flirtatious, yes. Kind, no.

Lost in thought, Trip hadn't even noticed her whereabouts until Boots bounded up to her. "Heya, Trip," he greeted with a grin. She nodded in acknowledgment. The boy dug in his pocket for a moment, then extracted a few marble-sized rocks. "Got some nice shooters. I was gonna give 'em ta Spot the next time I saw 'im, but you'se can use 'em." Looking around to make sure no one else could hear, Boots cupped his hand around his mouth and whispered, "You'se a bettah shot anyway."

Trip laughed. "Thanks, Boots," and accepted his gift, dropping the shooters into her own pocket.

"So what brings ya ta 'Hattan?" Boots inquired.

"Business," she stated. "Ya know where Kid Blink sold t'day?"

"Sure, he's with Sink over in Bottle Alley," Boots reported. "Mush decided on the harbor today."

"Got it," Trip confirmed, then bid farewell, squaring her shoulders and making her way to Bottle Alley.

* * *

Sinker had been trying desperately to sell her last two papers underneath the watchful eye of Blink, who refused to help her in any way, insisting that if he assisted her she would never be able to sell on her own. "What's the mattah with me?" she exclaimed in frustration. "Why can't I sell ya, ya stupid papes?!" She ringed the newspapers violently.

Blink chuckled from his perch of potato filled bags. "C'mon Sink, its two papes, ya can do it," he encouraged.

Sinker glowered at the lounging newsie. He looked so irresistible in his lazy position, smirking up at her with one eyebrow raised. She bit her lip and turned back to the street, remembering the kiss they had shared last night. Her mind was so muddled over the situation, considering nothing besides a few flirty comments had been exchanged between them since. There was no talk about what it had meant, if it had even meant anything at all, that is.

She was about to yell a ridiculous lie of a headline when she saw Blink lurch into an upright position. Sinker looked back to him, then in the direction which he was staring, eye wide. Drawing near was a girl about the same age as the two selling, yet shorter and stringier. Her hair was flowing around her face, wavy and light. Her blue eyes were emphasized by the heavy charcoal lining them, and her lips were a pretty, yet unrealistic, pink. Beside the way her face was, she was dressed in dirty clothing similar to Sinker's drab apparel, and a loose, floppy hat adorned her head. But Blink couldn't take his eyes off of her, causing a lightning bolt of jealousy to pulse through Sinker's body.

"Hey Trip," Blink sprang from his spot.

Trip batted her eyelashes ever so slightly. "Oh, hello, I didn't see you there," she giggled girlishly. Sinker gagged, and internally, so did Trip. Both hated the kind of girl Trip was pretending to be.

Seeing Sinker, Trip introduced herself. "I'm Trip, from Brooklyn." So that explained her figure, all Brooklynite's were known for their lean, yet strong, muscles. The very fact that Trip was a Brooklynite, and therefore close with Spot Conlon, made Sinker dislike her even more.

"This is Sinker," Blink said hurriedly, never taking his eye off Trip, who looked Sinker over analytically.

She nodded at the papers Sinker still held. "Having trouble?"

"No," Sinker snapped, turning away, attempting to get rid of the two papers that now seemed to her a great embarrassment.

Trip shrugged, then touched Blink's shoulder to get his attention, not that she needed to, and smiled ditzily. "So Blink," she began, "Brooklyn's throwin' a party tonight, Manhattan's invited, but I wanted ta heah first hand if _you'd_ be there or not…" she trailed off, peering up at him through long, mascara heavy lashes.

"Of course," Blink spluttered over the girl. Ever since he had met Trip a few years back, he had harbored a small, unrequited crush on her, but Trip never showed interest in any guy, so he kept it to himself and slowly forgot about it. Until now.

"Great," Trip breathed, stepping intimately closer. "I'll see ya there," she breathed in his ear before spinning on her heel back to Brooklyn.

* * *

Spot sat precariously on his throne at the docks, scanning the horizon for his second-in-command. What was taking Trip so long? She knew how impatient he got. Finally a figure appeared in the distance and it took all of Spot's effort to stay seated on the crate he occupied instead of running up to check the progress of his plan. Trip was walking very slowly, feeling like a horrible person when she arrived at the bottom of the stack of crates.

"C'mon up," Spot said, not out of friendliness, but because he wanted to hear results.

The made-up newsie climbed her way to Spot and plopped down next to him. "Why do ya want this goil so bad?" she asked wearily.

"I wanna heah what happened foist," the leader demanded.

Trip sighed. "Exactly as planned. 'Hattan's comin' ovah and Blink's interested."

"Poifect," Spot gloated, smirking in his small triumph.

"Don't it make ya feel bad at all?" Trip asked, rounding on him.

Spot gave her an incredulous glance, then laughed, legitimately laughed. "You'se a hoot 'n a half, Trip, I knew there was a reason I kept ya around." He clapped her on the back and jumped from the boxes. "I'se'll see ya tonight, who knows, maybe you'se'll get lucky with Blink." He winked, strutting away.

"Yeah," Trip sighed, mentally hitting herself for still loving the King of Brooklyn.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Sorry this chapter is one of the shorter ones, but the next one should be a bit longer...I think ha ha, I have the beginning written out and I just need to continue on with it, it shouldn't be terribly long before its posted, until then, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, we'll see how far Spot is willing to continue with the plan that is eating poor Trip up inside!

And reviews are welcome! obviously...


	5. Spotted

**Author's Note:** BIG NEWS! There is now a Spot Week! Yay! This week takes place April 1st through the 8th, and is hosted by huffle-bibin and I, details about the weeks are on either of our profiles. So put your best foot forward and make it a Spot-tacular week!! (boy, that was a cheesy thing to say...)

And now, without furter adu (besides the disclaimer), here is chapter five!

**Disclaimer:** Sinker, Trip, and Speed belong to me :D

* * *

"Whaddaya mean ya ain't gonna go?" Mush asked in disbelief, no one said 'no' to a Brooklyn party.

Sinker sat on Mush's bunk, her hands supporting her head. "I'm still tired from last night," she lied, looking up at him with a pout.

Mush crossed his arms, "Well, if ya change ya mind, be careful makin' ya way there, the bulls live for the nighttime, they'se'll pick ya up for just lookin' like a newsie."

Sinker nodded, "Thanks Mush, but I'll prolly just stay heah." Probably? More like definitely. She had no wish to watch Blink drool over that floozie, Trip.

As if merely thinking of Blink summoned him, he appeared at the foot of the bed. "Ya ready ta go?" he asked, unable to conceal his excitement.

Mush shook his head, "Sink ain't goin'."

Blink's jaw dropped. "Ain't goin'? Why not?" he questioned, confused. He looked at her soft eyes, and realized this was his fault. He knew he shouldn't have been so into Trip when she came, especially after kissing Sinker, but Blink couldn't help it. "Mush, I gotta talk ta Sink, ya mind?"

Not slighted in the least, Mush skipped away to go join Skittery and Snitch by the stairwell. Blink hesitantly stepped closer to the gloomy girl, then leaned against the bed. "Ya really not comin'?" he asked quietly.

She shrugged. "I'm tired," she replied. "So I'se'd just be taken up space."

Blink glanced down, poking the floor with the toe of his boot. "I kinda want ya ta be there," he admitted. His heart was flopping between Sinker and Trip, tearing him in two opposite directions. He hated seeing Sinker like this, even after knowing her for less than three days.

Sinker smiled weakly up at him, "Don' worry about it Blink, go have fun. Trip's waitin' on ya," she looked down, forcing a friendly laugh.

Blink's chest tugged in hurt at how she had used Trip against him, "Yeah, okay, well…see ya tomorrow then." He too smiled, but not near the usual brightness, then headed out the door.

At the same time, a shadow that had crept onto the fire escape sprinted away. "Spot ain't gonna be happy bout this," the boy mumbled to himself. His black hair whipped around his face as he picked up speed, dark brown eyes darting around. He burst through the Brooklyn Lodging House doors when he arrived there, panting and out of breath. He glanced around for Spot, but his eyes settled on Trip. He sauntered up to her. "'Ey Trip." She spun to face him, and he was taken by surprise at the hint of make-up on her face.

Noticing the look, she explained, "It's all part a the plan, Speed."

Speed swallowed, Trip was pretty when she needed to be. He shook his head. "Where's Spot?"

Trip shrugged. "Either his room, the roof, or the docks; I'll help ya look," she offered.

"Sure," Speed nodded, and they began ascending the stairs.

True to Trip's assumption, Spot was in his room. "Come in," his voice sounded distantly from behind the door Speed had knocked on. Trip exchanged a glance with Brooklyn's most valuable bird and runner, not to mention one of her closest comrades, and led the way into the room.

Spot nodded at each of them, his eyes lingering on Trip, then landing on Speed. The runner obviously had something to say, for his torso was still rising and falling fast, proof of his journey. "What is it?"

Speed looked to Trip for help, but her eyes reminded him that in the presence of Spot, it's every newsie for themselves. Speed returned his gaze to Spot. "It's Sinker," he said, raising his hand to comb his fingers absently through his dark curls. "She's, uh, not comin'."

Spot stood stock still. For a few minutes the room was filled with silent tension, then Spot spoke eerily. "And why is that?"

Speed gulped, "She don' wanna be by Blink, since he made a fool a himself with Trip, I heard…"

Spot's eyes burned at Trip. She held up her hands, "I just followed ordahs," she pleaded.

The leader looked away, thinking; if all of Manhattan was coming to Brooklyn, then that meant Sinker would be alone…

Spot smirked. "Keep them undah control," he barked, "I'm goin' ta 'Hattan."

* * *

The boys were gone and Sinker laid out on her and Blink's shared bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing Blink was with her, telling a joke she had already heard from him five times, grinning giddily, laughing intoxicatingly.

There was the creak of a floorboard and Sinker's head shot up in alert. Kloppman stood in the doorway. "Sinker, there's a young man downstairs waiting for you, he says you know about this," he looked at her with concern.

Sinker scrunched up her face in confusion. Who would come and call on her? Then it clicked. Pulitzer wanted her first report. Well, they nearly missed her, she thought. "Yeah, I know 'bout it." She climbed off the bunk. "Thanks, Kloppman." She jumped the steps two at a time. Sure enough, Tyler, one of the men who had previously thrown her from the boat, was waiting awkwardly at Kloppman's desk.

"'Bout time," he muttered, exiting the building without waiting for Sinker.

"Nice seein' ya too," she mumbled, scrambling out the door after him, walking behind him so no one drew any suspicions from the image of them together. Tyler led her up the stairs of the World building and into the air-conditioned office of Pulitzer's.

"Mr. Pulitzer?" Tyler asked to get the man's attention.

Pulitzer swiveled his chair to face Sinker. "Sit." He pointed at a much less comfortable looking chair in front of his desk. "You can go now Mr. Tyler." With a nod of his abnormally bulbous head, Tyler exited the room, leaving Sinker to face Pulitzer on her own.

"Well," the bearded man said expectantly.

"Well…" Sinker thought. She didn't want to be there, giving away anything important, but she didn't know either side well enough to decipher through what or wasn't vital to the newsie's existence. "I've sold forty papes."

Pulitzer's mouth drew into a thin line. "I don't want to hear how you're selling my papers; I want news of anything the newsies are doing," he gruffly stated.

Sinker shrugged. "They'se sell papes all day and party with Brooklyn at night—"

"Brooklyn?" Pulitzer interrupted.

Sinker gulped, "Um, maybe."

Pulitzer's eyes were slits. "Have you by any chance met someone called Spot Conlon?"

Sinker's facial expression of annoyance gave her away before she could lie and say no.

"Oh, this is good news indeed," Pulitzer clapped once and rubbed his hands together. "If you can get with this Spot fellow, not only will the Manhattan newsies be crippled, but Brooklyn may fall as well."

Sinker's jaw dropped. "No." She was not going to be used to break Brooklyn too. She hated having to report on Manhattan like a child finking on the entirety of the class, she didn't need Brooklyn wanting her blood as well.

Pulitzer looked her over. "Think on it. It would be in your best intrests to agree with me the next time one of my boys comes to get you." He lifted a miniature bell that was resting on his desk and rang it. Tyler reappeared. "Take this street rat out," Pulitzer instructed.

"Hey," Sinker yelled in offense at the term, but Pulitzer was already gazing out of his gigantic window down at the empty streets.

Tyler grabbed her elbow, dragging her from the cool office, a sense of de ja vu running through Sinker's mind. "I hoid da whole thing. Ya best agree with Mistah Pulitzah if ya know what's good for ya health," Tyler hissed, tossing her roughly into the alley.

She tried slowing herself down, but ended up colliding loudly into a few barrels that had been stacked outside. "Ow," Sinker moaned, wishing she could just live her life as she pleased.

* * *

Spot had reached Manhattan in record time. He sauntered down the streets in the direction of the Lodging House when, from a nearby side road, he heard a rather distracting ruckus. He raised his eyebrow, peering into the dim light. Something had just been thrown out of the side door of the World building. He shrugged his shoulders and was about to continue on his way when he heard what—actually _who_—had been thrown out mumble a tasteful string of curses. He chuckled until the person stood from the disrupted barrels.

"Sinker?!"

Sinker froze. "Oh shit," she whispered.

Spot approached her stealthily. "Now, what are you'se doin' outside the World building? Actually, what were you'se doin' _inside_ the World building?" his eyes were concentrated darkly on her own.

Sinker gulped, looking about helplessly. She was done, dead, she figured, so why lie? Spot wasn't stupid, he knew what was going on, and if he didn't know at that exact moment, he'd figure it out. Sinker licked her lips. "Look, it's not that I wanted ta, it was more a matter of life 'n death," she began. "I didn' choose ta rat on Manhattan. I didn' know what ta do…"

Spot pursed his lips. "So you'se a weasel? Giving info to da head honcho? How much he payin' ya?" he spat in disgust.

"He's not!" Sinker yelled in Spot's face. "If I don't do this, I'm dead. I told ya that already."

Spot looked her over coolly. "You'se is dead if Manhattan finds out too."

"I know! And Pulitzer used that against me too, he said if I didn' listen ta him he'd tell—" Sinker stopped, what Spot said finally registering in her head. "Wait, whaddaya mean _if_ 'Hattan finds out? Ya ain't gonna tell 'em?"

Spot smirked. "It's gonna cost ya," he spoke smoothly. An idea was forming in his mind. Sinker was now putty in his hands, he could make her do anything he wanted. She was his puppet and he was the puppet master. Sadly, he admitted to himself, his pride was more important than the safety of Manhattan. Besides, there wasn't anything going on with the newsies now, so there wasn't anything she could tell Pulitzer that would lead to dire consequences. "I got a deal for you'se…"

* * *

Trip made her way clumsily down the stairs of the Brooklyn Lodging House, Speed in tow. "I've nevah run a party before," she confessed. "I didn' know parties were run, I just thought ya let 'em go…"

"Well, you'se don' really gotta run da party," Speed reminded her. "You'se've gotta distract Blink and get his mind offa Sinker."

Trip scowled. "I'm well aware of that."

Speed glanced down at her, "Ya know Spot'll want ya ta do everythin' it takes…"

She glared in the direction of the raven haired newsie. "Yes. I realize that. And I realize what that entails, thank ya very much."

"Sometimes I thinks Spot's a bit hard on ya," Speed sighed.

Trip thought over what Speed had said, she shrugged, "I guess that's what I get fer bein' second-in-command."

Speed trotted down the rest of the stairs to the already rowdy party, "Just sayin', you'se always get the short end a the stick." He brushed past, grabbing a drink and disappearing into the crowd, leaving Trip forlorn on the stairwell, leaning on the railing.

Manhattan's newsies were arriving in a steady stream, and Trip had her eyes peeled for Blink, wishing she could just finish her job and move on with her life. She knew what Spot expected of her that night, and his request made her squirm inside, made her feel dirty. She made her way carefully down the rest of the flight and grabbed a cup of cheap liquor, knowing she'd need the extra courage it gave.

As Trip went back to scanning the party, she saw the door open. Mush, Blink, Snitch, and Skittery piled in, and seemed to already be buzzed. Grabbing up another drink, plus one for Blink, she plastered a coy smile on her made-up face and slithered through the crowd to meet him. "Hey Blink," she cooed, handing him the glass, which he willingly accepted.

"Hi," he grinned sheepishly, absolutely smitten with the newsgirl in front of him. And yet there was still the nagging voice in his head reminding him of Sinker.

The duo sat down at a nearby table, joining in on a few games of poker, then merely watching after Racetrack managed to clean them out. After a few hours, Trip stretched her arms elegantly, beginning the last bit of her morally wrong task. "I'm tired," she yawned, then in the same innocent tone, "Ya wanna go ta bed?"

Blink understood the underlying message, but hesitated. What about Sinker? The poor girl was probably moping around the Manhattan Lodging House, maybe even crying, and all because Blink had been a little preoccupied with Trip earlier that day. He knew he should have offered to hang around with her instead of going to the party, but then he would have let Trip down.

As Blink was about to shake his head in refusal, the door of Brooklyn's Lodging House banged open, attracting everyone's attention. Standing there were Spot and Sinker. A huge, triumphant, and weaselish smirk plastered upon his face, his arm draped over Sinker's shoulders in a kind of ownership. Sinker had one of her arms twisted around Spot's waist, but she looked uncomfortable and unsure.

Both Blink's and Trip's hearts sunk at the image before them, hurt racing through their systems. "Yes," Blink said rashly, maybe a little too loud.

"Wonderful," Trip agreed, grabbing his hand tightly and pulling him up the stairs.

* * *

Spot and Sinker made their way over to the same seats Blink and Trip had just vacated. Sinker felt nauseous at the sight of them running for a bedroom. Blink apparently didn't liker her in the same way she liked him. Racetrack looked at the new couple with a grin, "You'se're togethah now?"

Sinker glanced at Spot, his eyes reminding her of the deal they had struck. "Most definitely," she tried to reply convincingly.

"We found we'se enjoyed each othah quite a lot," Spot spoke up, arm still wrapped around her shoulders. "Ain't that right doll?"

Sinker turned to face him and was caught off guard when his lips crashed upon hers. Her eyes opened wide as Spot kissed along her jaw to her ear and hissed, "You'se is gonna hafta act bettah in ordah for this ta work."

Sinker pulled away from Spot, who's kisses had been working their way back to her mouth. Rage flared in the leader's eyes until Sinker pathetically mewed, "Spot, I'm sleepy…"

However, once in Spot's private room, his anger returned. "Hey, don't get mad," Sinker said after shoving him away from her. "I just made it look like ya got a goil, and that's the deal. I _act_ like I'se ya goil, and you don't tell Manhattan about my double life."

Spot lunged at her, grabbing her wrists tightly. Sinker gasped, surprised. "I can make ya do whatevah I want," he snarled, "I'se the one with the uppah hand," then he let her go, his smirk cutting across his previously tense face. "But I'se'll let ya be for now," he allowed. "'Cause you'se'll come around," he prophesized, "You'se'll want it."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Aw, poor everyone! Except Spot, who usually seems to get what he wants, because he's Spot. And just a reminder, don't forget that Spot week is coming up! YAY!! and yes, Spot will show a soft side every now and again during this story, no worries, I'm not going to make one of my favorite characters into a heartless jerk for an entire story ha ha

Now review pweez :D


	6. Don't Kill the Messenger

**Author's Note:** Well, it's been a while, and I regretfully inform you that this chapter is a tad shorter than the previous ones, but its a chapter none the less!! And it also introduces a situation that is potentially life threatening to one of our dear characters!!! ah!!! Thank you so much for your reviews! You guys are so awesome!!

**Disclaimer:** I am the owner of Sinker, Trip, and Speed :D and no! not the drug!

* * *

The rain poured down heavily the next day, which did not improve Sinker or Blink's attitudes. Both were hurt and both were, due to the fact that they were soaked to the bone and barely selling any papers, kind of agitated. They had snapped at each other so often during the day that it was a miracle they hadn't killed each other. Of course, there were still a few hours before sunset, so they still had time.

"This is ridiculous," Sinker muttered, really wanting to just throw her papers in the mud and curl up, comfy and warm, with Blink in bed. But that would _never_ happen, so she resisted the urge.

"Well no one's gonna buy ya food if ya don' sell the papes, so stop complainin'," Blink snapped. "Oh wait, you'se Spot's goil now, he'll buy ya anythin' I 'spose."

"Shut up!" Sinker yelled, this time actually allowing herself to throw down her leftover papers.

Blink sneered, which looked odd on his usually cheery face. Underneath it all though, was a tone of pain when he softly said, "Ya know, I thought that kiss meant somethin' ta ya…"

Sinker gulped and clenched her fists. "It _did_ mean somethin' ta me! But ya had ta go bolt up the stairs with Tramp!"

"Her name's _Trip_," Blink yelled, "And you'se the one that showed up with _Spot_."

"Did it ever occur to ya that maybe I didn' _wanna_ go with Spot?" she shouted, nostrils flared, as she turned on her heel and began marching in the direction of the Lodging House, mentally slapping herself for letting that little detail slip.

Blink stood in silence as the water pelted down. Sinker hadn't wanted to go with Spot? What did that mean? He knew what it meant. It meant he had royally screwed up. Sinker's figure was slowly disappearing through the dreadful sheets of water that were raining down. "Sink!" he called out, dropping the papers he still had into a puddle, loping after the girl.

"Don't talk ta me," she ground out once he had caught up to her, easily matching her stride.

Blink took a deep breath, obeying her request a little over a minute before bursting. "Whaddaya mean ya didn't wanna go with Spot?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't feel obligated to answer your question," she said in a well-mannered way.

"C'mon Sink, tell me," Blink pleaded. "I mean, we _sleep_ together."

Sinker's face turned red before she corrected him. "No Blink, you and _Trip_ sleep together, we simply share the same bunk."

Blink's face burned now too, but at least he had got her to make some sort of a joke. That had to be a good sign. "Well, yeah, that's what I meant," he admitted sheepishly, scratching the back of his head shyly.

They walked in an awkward silence for a block or so, before Blink asked again. Sinker shrugged. "I—we—er—we kind of have a deal, is all," she explained.

Blink raised an eyebrow. "What kind of deal?"

Sinker shook her head, "It's stupid. I pretend ta be his goil, and he, uh…let's me borrow his books…" So it wasn't the best lie ever told, but she hoped it would work.

"Spot _reads_?" Blink asked incredulously.

"Oh, yeah!" Sinker exclaimed, a bit too loudly. "But, uh, don't bring it up with him, he feels it, er, takes away from his…manly image."

Blink nodded in understanding, about to say something, but Sinker, who had become suddenly angry again, cut him off. "Why do _you_ care anyway? Shouldn't ya be more worried with Trip?"

Blink stared guiltily at the ground, "Look, I…I don't like Trip…I…like you," he whispered the last word.

"I'm sure ya give that line ta every goil," Sinker muttered.

Blink stepped in front of her, blocking her way, a serious look on his face. She tried to side step him, as they had arrived at the Lodging House, but Blink placed his hands on her shoulders, effectively stopping her. "No," he said. "I don'."

Sinker knew she shouldn't have, but she just couldn't help snapping, "Oh, sorry, I meant to say 'every goil ya wanna get in bed'."

Blink sighed, he felt at a loss. But then, in a last desperate attempt, he did the first thing that came to mind. And the next thing he knew, he had Sinker's neck cradled in his hand and was kissing her deeply.

* * *

"Are ya serious?! Have ya seen the weathah Spot? I ain't goin' ta 'Hattan in _that_," Trip protested, gesturing to the rain streaked window. "Can't ya send Speed? He actually _likes_ the rain."

Spot glared at her coldly. "Speed is out sellin' papes, like a newsie's 'sposed ta."

Trip rolled her eyes. "I already finished sellin', and so have _you_," she reminded him

They were lounging in Spot's room, or rather, Trip was sprawled out on Spot's bed lazily, her feet dangling off the side ("Don't get mud on me bed!" Spot had shrieked when she had originally plopped down, sounding a lot like a girl.). But Spot was once again pacing back and forth, it helped him think.

"I want ya ta go get Sink and bring her back tomorrow mornin', aftah the rain's stopped," he instructed Trip.

"You'se insane if ya think I'm actually gonna make the trip ta 'Hattan when its like _that_ outside," she snickered.

Spot turned on her with such a cold look in his eye that it sent a shiver up Trip's spine. She had seen the look before, but it had never been used against _her_. She gulped, and was a little surprised that a glare was able to make her do something she really did not want to. But she realized that maybe it also had to do with that hideous emotion known as love, which seemed to have Trip in a chokehold.

Trip diverted her eyes to the old wood flooring. She stood up and went to the door. Before slamming it, which she fully intended to do, she warned Spot, "I still think she likes Blink."

Spot smirked. "That'll change."

In the end, Trip didn't slam the door, she shut it quietly, slowly twisting the door knob to avoid any excess noise.

She arrived in Manhattan with a runny nose and a cough. She highly doubted Sinker was going to change her mind and go after Spot. Especially when Trip came upon Blink kissing her.

That is until Sinker pulled away and slapped Blink with an audible THWAP. Trip felt a little sorry for both of them. They could have been a sweet couple. She wiped her nose and strode up to the pair. Blink had a shocked, wide-eyed expression plastered on his face, and Sinker looked ready to smack the newsie again. Neither of them got to explain their actions, though, because Trip stepped up, yelling out, "Hey!"

Blink gulped, quickly averting his gaze, and Sinker's eyes transformed into slits, murder glinting in the hazel color. It wasn't hard to tell how Sinker felt about the approaching Brooklynite. And Sinker wasn't in the mood to hide her feelings either.

"Trip," Blink uttered in greeting.

Trip nodded at him, which he didn't see because his head was still ducked, then she spoke to Sinker. "Spot wants ta see ya."

Sinker grimaced, "Well I don' wanna see him." She proceeded to storm rudely into the Manhattan Lodging House, but Trip and Blink merely followed her.

"We'll leave in the mornin'," Trip coughed, and when she saw Sinker about to argue, she ended with, "I don' think ya have much of a choice, he'll come get ya hisself if ya don' go."

Sinker snapped her mouth shut, ringing out her watery cap, and stomped up the stairs, trying to rid herself of the dread lying in the pit of her stomach. What Trip said was true. She _didn't_ have a choice. And once again, Sinker felt trapped.

* * *

**Author's Note:** So, a considerably shorter chapter, but one that will end up being very important! Reviews rock! and you guys rock! so you guys and reviews go hand-in-hand! I'm glad we've determined that! Now leave one...please :D


	7. On the Open Road

**Author's Note:** Chapter seven! This chapter is pretty cool, we get to see some interaction between Sinker and Trip :D and Spot makes an appearance at the end, so thats always good :) Thanks to all of you guys for your reviews! I luv you all!!

**Disclaimer:** I own my characters, Disney owns thiers :P

* * *

Sinker hadn't thought of it much, but as she sat on the windowsill, purposefully ignoring Blink, and staring out the window, she realized Spot was inadvertently playing right into her hands. Pulitzer had wanted her to get involved with Spot, much to her displeasure, and the newsie was making it horridly easy. He even _knew_ she was working for Pulitzer, yet he merely made her a small deal. Something was up, but Sinker was having trouble placing her finger on it.

It was at that moment that Mush plopped himself down beside her, a goofy grin on his face. "Hiya Sink!" He was dripping water from every article of clothing. It reminded Sinker of when they had first met, after he had rescued her from the deathly depths of the harbor.

Sinker couldn't help but smile at him, "How's it rollin' Mush?"

The boy made a face, sticking his tongue out to the side and rolling his eyes upward. "Sellin' ain't so good with this," he jerked his thumb at the rain outside, then he smiled. "But puddles sure are fun ta jump in!" That was Mush, always seeing the best in everything.

She subconsciously wondered if he could find a silver lining in her predicament. It would probably be along the lines of "Well, you're alive!" which she would promptly add "for now" to the end of.

"Anyway," Mush began, "I was gonna see if ya wanted ta sleep in me bunk tonight, seein' as Jack's kickin' you an' Blink outta your bunk for Trip."

Sinker laughed. "I dunno, did ya sell at the harbor again? 'Cause ya always stink aftah that!"

Mush puffed out his chest. "It's a manly smell," he boasted with a large grin.

She smiled warmly back. "Yeah, sure," she replied. "But, uh, where's Blink sleepin'?"

"Boots an' Snipeshooter are gonna share tonight, so Blink gets a bed ta himself," Mush explained. "Me and him are too big ta share, and I jus' thought that ya might not wanna share with him t'day…you'se seem a little…" he couldn't some up with a good word to describe the two newsies' tension, but he didn't have to, Sinker understood his meaning.

She clapped a hand on his shoulder, "Well thanks Mush, I appreciate it."

Mush nodded and bounded over to where Racetrack, Skittery, and Snitch were playing cards, leaving Sinker to stare out at the pouring rain. She shivered, glad that she didn't have to be out in the cold.

Trip was sitting by herself as well, rubbing her red nose and shaking. She didn't know why but she was freezing. She, too, was relieved to be out of the downpour. Rubbing her hands together to warm up, she made her way over to where Crutchy was counting his meager amount of pennies.

"Hey Crutchy," she mumbled, feeling a little out of place.

Crutchy smiled brightly. "Hiya Trip! How'd ya sell t'day? I ain't havin' much luck lately…"

Trip sneezed. "Sorry ta hear that Crutchy." She dug into her deep pockets and pulled out a nickel, sliding it over to Crutchy's penny pile. "I ain't been doin' so bad."

Crutchy immediately shook his head in refusal. "No! I can't take—"

"Oh shush! Ya can pay me back latah if ya really wanna," she smirked, enjoying the ecstatic look that broke out across Crutchy's sweet face.

"Gee, thanks Trip! I really owe ya!"

Trip rolled her eyes. "Don' mention it." She coughed into her hand. "I think I'm gonna hit the hay. Night, Crutchy."

"Sweet dreams," he replied cheerily, waving as she headed to where she was going to sleep for the night.

* * *

"Why the _hell_ are you waking me up so god damn early?!"

There was no light shining into the bunkroom, Sinker was still cranky from yesterday, and Mush _had_ smelt like dead fish, even after being drenched in rain water. Not to mention, Sinker despised getting up in the mornings.

Trip was understanding and patient, as usual. "I'm assumin' Spot wants ta spend the day with ya. In order ta get back ta Brooklyn for the start a the day, we gotta leave now."

"I hate Spot," Sinker grumbled, more to herself than to anyone in particular, but Trip still heard. She burned inside at the childish remark. Trip would have given _anything_ for the kind of attention Spot was giving Sinker.

"Well that's not my problem," Trip snapped uncharacteristically, taken aback by her own tone.

Sinker was startled as well, covering her shock she whispered, "Geez, I'm gettin' up."

She untangled herself from Mush's vice grip (he had apparently mistaken her for a childhood teddy bear named Cuddles while he was asleep), and slipped from the bed. Mush snuggled deeper into his pillow and murmured, "Cuddles…"

As Sinker was dressing, she glanced up at the other newsgirl, who stood awkwardly looking off into the distance. Trip had no make-up on, Sinker noticed, and her nose was red. Purple bags were puffed under her eyes. Trip sniffled and wiped with the back of her hand, yawning in the process.

If this had been Sinker's first impression, she thought she probably would have grown to like her. But, as it was, this was not their first meeting, and Sinker scowled at the memories as she tied her shoe laces.

The boys were still snoring as they made their way down the stairs, trying to avoid the steps that squeaked, but failing completely. Their attempt was pointless anyway, for when they exited the building, Sinker forgot to slowly close the door and it slammed shut with a resonating bang. "Oops…" she sheepishly mumbled.

The two walked along in tense silence, except for the occasional cough or sneeze from Trip, and the grinding of Sinker's teeth. Halfway to Brooklyn Sinker finally noticed that Trip was rubbing her arms and shivering. "What's wrong with ya?" she sort of spat out, sounding more rude than she had intended.

Trip shrugged. "Dunno, prob'ly just a cold, I'm fine."

Sinker nodded and they continued on without looking at each other for a while until Trip said, "Ya know…I don't like Blink…"

Sinker stumbled. "What?" she managed to choke out, not really believing what she had heard.

Trip took a breath. "Spot just wanted me to take Blink's focus off a ya. I don't like Blink." Then she added, "And ya clearly don't like Spot, so just tell 'im."

Sinker shook her head at the last comment. "It ain't that easy…"

"Yeah it is," Trip continued, her currently nasal voice growing louder. "Just tell 'im straight out that ya don't like 'im and—" she stopped, a sudden realization hitting her. Why hadn't this thought ever occurred to her before? "Wait a minute. If ya don't like Spot…then _why_ are ya togethah?!"

Sinker grimaced, she had been hoping Trip would remain oblivious, but one does not become second-in-command in Brooklyn by being oblivious. "Ah, we just, uh, have a deal, which is really none ya business…" Then Sinker caught on to something. "Wait. Why do _you_ care so much about me tellin' Spot I don't like him?"

A crimson blush flooded Trip's anemic face as she made up some excuse about how being Spot's right hand meant she had to look for things that he didn't see. Which was a lame excuse, considering Spot pretty much saw _everything_.

Sinker's mouth dropped and then she grinned wide, pointing and doing an odd, annoying little dance around Trip. "Ya like Spot! Oh my—Ha ha ha! _You_ like _Spot_!"

Trip's lips were in a thin line and her jaw was set as she picked up her pace. Sinker followed behind, mouth agape and chuckling, before Trip swung around to glare at the newsgirl. "Listen. I don't want ta like 'im, but I do. It's nobody's business but mine though, so I'd 'preciate it if ya'd _butt out_!" Then she turned back in the direction of Brooklyn and continued marching.

Sinker blinked, slightly shocked at Trip's outburst, but quickly recovering, snickering and whispering, just loud enough to reach Trip, "Trip likes Spo-ot…"

* * *

By the time they had arrived at Brooklyn's Lodging House Trip had become quite irritated with Sinker's behavior, but she figured she'd rather have the girl poking fun than plotting revenge.

The Brooklyn newsies were trotting down the stairs as the girls shoved their way up. A few whistled and cat called jokingly at Trip before they noticed Sinker behind her, and they promptly shut their mouths and tipped their hats or winked. Spot had taught them to be classy, not lewd; however, it was questionable whether Spot even stuck to _that_ lesson.

Speed came down the stairs, stretching his long arms. He saw Trip and Sinker proceeding up and grinned. "I heard he sent ya yesterday…had ta see it ta believe it, considerin' ya don't take kindly ta _any_ form a water," he chuckled at Trip's miffed expression.

She sniffed, more because her nose was running than anything else, and pointedly ignored her friend, who laughed, slapping her good-naturedly on the back and tipping his hat to Sinker. Speed bounded down the steps, yelling, "See ya on the streets!"

"Who. Is. _That_?" Sinker gasped. Trip stared at Sinker in disbelief. No way was Sinker suggesting—"Why don' ya like _him_? He's…he's…who _is_ he?!"

"That's Speed," Trip informed her. "We're friends."

"_How_ could ya like—"

Trip clamped a hand over Sinker's mouth. "_Never_ say what ya were about ta say around this place." She whipped her head to make sure no one had or could over hear. "No one knows…"

Sinker smirked. "So you'se sayin' we got a secret between us?"

"If ya wanna put it that way…"

"Well I 'spose I could rephrase it as 'blackmail'…"

"A secret is fine by me!" Trip ended the conversation, then pounded Spot's door, coughed, and yelled. "SPOTTY!"

The door was wrenched open by a disgruntled Spot, hair every which way, shirtless, eyebrows knit. "How many times I gotta tell ya _not_ ta call me that?!" he noticed Sinker standing behind Trip with a highly amused expression.

"Delivery," Trip quipped before turning to go. "See ya latah Sink…" she added slowly, a tad unsure.

Sinker looked at the ground, scuffing her shoe. "Yeah, see ya," she replied quietly before smiling up at the girl.

Trip nodded and walked down the stairs, sneezing as she went.

Spot was a little confused at the exchange. He had thought the girls were enemies, merely because of the circumstances they had met under. He shrugged, then glanced at Sinker, who now stood alone in the hall, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. He smirked. "I'll be right out, doll."

Sinker grimaced, about to retaliate, when the door slammed in her face.

* * *

**Author's Note:** And there you have it. Don't you wish Spot would call you 'doll'? I know I do! And .Will guess what!! Next chapter we see a bit of Spot's sweet side!!! Yay!!! ;D


	8. Taking a Dip

**Author's Note:** O wow, I can't believe it, but we actually get to see a sweet side to Spot! I didn't think it was EVER going to happen ha ha! And such a fast update as well!! Woohoo! Thanks for the reviews :) as always!

**Disclaimer:** Sinker, Trip, and Speed are my people!!

* * *

"Ya know, that's not really the way ta win a girl ovah!" Sinker shouted at the door, then slumped back against the wall, pouting.

Spot smirked from the other side, slipping into a dark blue button up and placing his suspenders over his shoulders. He left the shirt open a ways, smirking to himslef. He combed his hair back with his fingers and plopped his cap on his head, opening the door grandly with a grin.

"Hello," he said, looking the girl in front of him over. She hadn't put any effort into her appearance obviously. Her clothes were rumpled and her hat was lazily off to the side. Her usually limp hair had a bit of a wave to it, and her one eyebrow was raised.

"What?" she asked, noticing his interest.

He smirked, draping his arm around her and leading her down the stairs, not bothering to answer her question. "Now, whaddaya wanna do t'day?"

"Sell papes in 'Hattan," she answered caustically.

He chuckled, not the reaction Sinker had been hoping for. "Let's go ta Barker's. Ya haven't had anythin' ta eat yet have ya?"

"I don' eat," Sinker replied stubbornly, not caring how ridiculous she sounded.

"Well _I_ do, so come along."

Spot and Sinker made their way down the bustling streets of early morning Brooklyn and into a small, dimly lit restaurant christened 'Barker's'. They blinked, their eyes adjusting, and by the time Sinker could clearly make out her surroundings, she and Spot were seated and a plate of food was steaming in front of both of them.

"Flapjacks!" she exclaimed with an excitement she hadn't wanted to show. She blushed, feeling like a child.

Spot smirked over his stack of pancakes at her, forking a large bite into his own mouth. "Shame ya don' eat, huh?" he asked through his full mouth, shoveling more onto his utensil.

Sinker grimaced. Damn Spot and his memory. "Well, uh…I don' really, er, have any money anyway…" she explained sheepishly, intoxicated by the smell of the pancakes wafting up to her nose.

Spot blinked at her. "I got it covered," he said, as if this was obvious.

"Oh…" Sinker trailed off, then whispered, "Thanks."

Spot, who had expected some sort of sarcastic remark smiled, "Yeah," but quickly changed back to his usual smirk. "Now eat," he ordered.

Sinker rolled her eyes, picking up her fork and drenching her breakfast in syrup.

* * *

"Whaddaya think they'se doin'?" Kid Blink asked for what seemed to Mush to be the millionth and seventeenth time. "Ya know, she tol' me she doesn't even like 'im—"

"Yeah, ya said that," Mush replied flatly, holding up a paper and shouting, "'Eye-patched newsie manages ta talk for days on end!'"

Blink didn't even notice Mush's attempt at a jab, too busy he was with his thoughts. Surprisingly though, the fake headline sold three of Mush's papers.

Blink was ringing a paper in his hands nervously, walking in a small circle and mumbling things to himself. Mush grabbed his arm and shook his best friend forcefully. "Blink! Ya gotta stop thinkin' bout it an' start sellin'! The days half ovah and ya still got at least twenty papes. I ain't payin' for ya food or ya rent, ya bummah!" Mush smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

Blink nodded his head. "Yeah, yeah, I jus' gotta stop…but really, Mush, whaddaya 'spose they'se doin'?!"

Mush shook his head and rolled his eyes, turning away from his flustered friend and back to possible customers. It looked like he'd be paying for Blink that day…

* * *

"Ain't ya 'sposed ta wait an hour befoah swimmin' aftah eatin'?" Sinker inquired, looking suspiciously at the waves that sloshed harmlessly against the dock.

"Aw, that's just an old wife's tale," Spot assured her, waving it off. "Now c'mon. If we'se take a dip now, then the sun'll be nice an' warm when we'se get out, just waitin' ta dry us off."

Sinker gulped. "Er…ya know, there's kinda a reason behind my name…"

Spot's eyes widened. "Ya tellin' me ya really don' know how ta swim?" He burst out laughing, doubling over.

Sinker crossed her arms, a scowl coming to her face. "Ya ain't helpin'."

Spot chuckled, breathing deeply before saying, "Ya know, I could teach ya ta swim…along with othah things." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"I'm gonna hafta decline ya offah," she replied. She had been pleasantly surprised by Spot's gentlemanly ways at breakfast, but the boy was clearly back to being the cocky, egotistical newsie that he was known to be.

Spot rolled his eyes. "C'mon, don' be like that, I was only jokin'."

"Right."

"Honest, now come swim, I sweah I'll help you'se," Spot reassured, the look in his eyes serious.

Sinker glanced around the presently deserted docks; she removed her hat and raked her fingers through her hair. Spot could see her resolve cracking, and then the girl said, "Fine."

Spot smirked triumphantly. "Great!" He removed his suspenders and whipped off his shirt, then proceeded to unbutton his pants.

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Whaddaya doin'?" Sinker squawked, jumping back about a foot, shooting her hands out for balance.

"Well ya don' expect ta swim fully dressed do ya?" he asked as his pants fell to the dock's wooden planks.

Sinker gulped. The boy was good looking. She couldn't deny that. But she liked Blink, despite her anger with him at the moment, and Trip liked Spot, and for some reason Sinker felt she should help Trip out. "Look Spot, I don' like ya, okay?"

Spot rolled his eyes. "I ain't askin' ya ta like me, I'm askin' ya ta swim."

"Fine," Sinker repeated, "But I won't like it."

Spot smirked at her stubborn attitude. He waited for her to cautiously undress until she was left in long-john shorts and a long sleeved undershirt. She licked her lips uneasily, and then glanced up at Spot. He was grinning as he took a step back, vanishing over the side of the dock, dropping out of sight.

Sinker bolted to where the newsboy had previously stood and skidded to an abrupt halt at the edge. She peered over to see Spot treading water, smirking up at her. "The water's fine," he called out.

This time Sinker gulped out of fear of the water, not at Spot's body. Mush had been able to save her that first day, but Mush was bigger than Spot, and looked much stronger as well. "C'mon," Spot beckoned patiently.

Sinker took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and counted to ten. "…nine and a half…nine and three fourths…not yet ten…" she took one last shuddering breath before launching herself in the air and over the edge, limbs flying, and screaming, "TEN!"

She sunk below the miniscule waves, struggling to reach the surface, when lean, muscular arms grabbed her up and out from the water. Sinker gasped for air, clinging to Spot. "'S okay, I got ya, relax," Spot soothed her.

Sinker tried to calm her heavy breathing and nodded, gulping in air. Spot smiled at her.

* * *

"He's _smilin'_!"

Speed snorted. "Spot don' smile," he chuckled, moving to where Trip was spying on Sinker and the leader of Brooklyn. "Good god he _is_ smilin'!"

Trip punched him in the arm. "I told ya!" she coughed out.

Speed rubbed his arm tenderly, making a face. "Well why's it mattah anyway if he smiles or not?"

"Because he _nevah_ smiles, Speed! Evah!"

"…so ain't it a good thing? If he's actually smilin' don' that mean he's happy?" Speed inquired, an expression of deep thought upon his face.

Trip's eyebrows knit together. "O' course it's a good thing!" she exclaimed defensively. "But—but—"

"But ya wish he was smilin' at _you_," Speed interpreted with one raised brow.

Trip sneezed. "Yeah," she admitted, wiping her nose sullenly.

Speed bit his lip. "Ya know…ya don' exactly keep ya fondness of Spot a secret," he smirked. "You'se always droolin' ovah him." He put his hands up as if he was a dog begging for food, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, and jokingly panted.

This impression earned Speed another punch from Trip. "I do _not_ look like _that_," she insisted.

Speed chuckled as he leaned back. "Naw, ya don', but it was fun ta see ya reaction." He smirked as she shook her head and went back to observing Sinker and Spot.

* * *

"Ya liar!" Sinker accused. "The water ain't 'fine'!" She was shivering from the chill and still holding tight to Spot, afraid to let go.

"Well maybe if ya started swimmin' on ya own, ya'd be warmer," he laughed.

Sinker scowled, now regretting her rash decision to jump into the freezing cold liquid. "I told ya I couldn't!"

Spot rolled his eyes and brought her over to where a rope ladder was hanging off the docks. Sinker gripped onto it and watched as Spot backed away. "Now," Spot began to instruct, "Pay attention." Sinker nodded, marking his every movement. "All ya gotta do is kick ya legs like this…" he moved his middle and index fingers like a pair of scissors pointing downward. Sinker nodded again. "Then," Spot continued, "Ya just move ya hands like this…" and he demonstrated that as well. Sinker gulped when Spot said, "Now ya try it."

She took a deep breath, as if considering the thought, then shook her head vigorously. "No. No. No. No!"

Spot cocked his head in amusement. "Yeah, ya gonna try it," he insisted.

Sinker was still shaking her head in refusal. Her eyes were wide as she stared out at the water, remembering her first encounter with Mush, her eyes fixed right through Spot. Her fear was obvious and Spot swam up to the rope. He hung onto the opposite side, looking directly at Sinker, whose terrified gaze hadn't left the water.

Spot reached out tentatively and turned her face so that she was staring into his own murky eyes. Her cheeks burned in embarrassment at her fright. He grinned, trying to calm her. "'S okay," he whispered. He glanced out at the waves before smirking back at her, then motioning up with his eyes. "Maybe that's enough swimmin' for t'day."

"Yeah," Sinker agreed, finally tearing her eyes away from Spot's and climbing her way up the ladder.

Spot followed close behind and remarked, "But at least I got ya wet."

She glared down at the smirking King of Brooklyn, kicked down at his sopping head, and continued to climb.

Spot smiled to himself. He had missed smiling.

* * *

"God dammit he's doin' it _again_!"

Speed rolled his eyes. "Trip, I'm boooooored," he whined.

Trip waved his comment away without even looking at him. "Then why don' ya find someone else ta hang with?" she accidentally snapped.

Speed frowned and stood abruptly. "Ya know, I think I will, 'cause I ain't the kind a guy who waits forevah."

Trip spun around in time to see Speed storm away, trying to figure out the meaning in his tone.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Another chapter done, and I'm even more in love with Spot! And Blink...and Mush...and Speed...and Racetrack (who isn't even in this chapter but I love him anyways!)...and Spot again! There's just so much love!!

Anywho! Leave a review dudes!!! Do it!!! Now! Don't question it! Just do it!


	9. What Is Love

**Author's Note:** Chapter nine: the plot thickens...dun dun dun! Anyway: Thank you soooooo much for your reviews, they totally keep me going :D

**Disclaimer:** Speed, Trip, and Sinker belong to moi, as always.

* * *

The sun beat down relentlessly on Mush and Blink's backs as they entered Tibby's for lunch. By some miraculous stroke of luck Blink had been able to sell his papers, with the help of Mush of course. They made their way over to Racetrack and Snitch, who were both enjoying a tall, cool glass of root beer.

"'S all I can afford t'day," Snitch moped, taking a long and mournful sip, then he glared at Racetrack. "And _he_ won't spot me none."

At the word 'spot' Blink flinched and Race and Snitch gave him a questioning glance. Mush stepped forward, shoving Blink into the booth with Snitch. "He's a little sensitive t'day," Mush replied to their stares while he sat next to Racetrack.

"'Bout what?" Race asked, staring at a forlorn Blink. The newsie was rubbing his one eye and his hair was sticking up at odd angles, messier than usual. He yawned wide. All-in-all, Race determined that Blink looked horrible.

Mush glanced at Blink for permission to answer Racetrack's question, but Blink was still scratching at his eye, so Mush spilled. "He's like this 'cause a Sinker."

Blink's head snapped up. "Sinker?"

He had apparently not been paying attention. Race rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Sink, ya know, the goil you'se share a bunk with."

Blink banged his head repeatedly upon the table, causing the glasses to shake and the utensils to clatter, not to mention attracting odd looks from the rest of Tibby's clientele and a stern look from the owner. The three newsies sitting with him looked at each other, not sure what to do. They had never seen Blink act like this before. He was always so giddy.

Snitch was the first to come up with an idea, acting on it before thinking it over. He grabbed Blink by the hair when his head was in the 'up' position. As Blink shifted to the 'down' movement, his hair was pulled by Snitch's steady hand and he yelled, "OW!" smacking Snitch, but finally out of his head-bashing phase.

"Well, thank god _that's_ ovah," Race remarked about Blink's behavior.

Blink had taken to crossing his arms childishly, leaning back in the booth, and glaring at his comrades. Racetrack raised one eyebrow, pursing his lips. "Ya gonna tell us the story Blink, or ya gonna make Mush tell it?"

Blink sniffed pathetically, looking at the table in a very depressed manner. "She's with _him_."

"Him who?" asked Snitch, because Snitch was clueless.

"Spot who!" Blink yelled.

"Spot who what?" was Snitch's next oddly stated inquiry.

"Spot's with Sinker," Blink grumbled, finally able to compose a sentence that made sense.

Snitch nodded, "That's neat."

"No it ain't _neat_!" Blink made a face at the word.

"Oh," Snitch said, now thoroughly confused.

Racetrack rolled his eyes again, leaning on the table, and began explaining, "Blinky boy heah likes Sinker, Snitch, that's why he's so uppity 'bout the whole deal. See, he screwed up real bad—OW!" Racetrack turned to glare at Mush, who had punched him, rather viciously, in the arm. "What ya do that for?!"

"That was rather violent," Snitch commented.

"Don't bring up how bad Blink messed up! Oh, crud, now _I_ said it, too!" Mush covered his mouth in embarrassment and Blink regressed back to hitting his head vigorously on the table top.

Snitch was sitting at attention, waiting for Racetrack to finish the story. Unfortunately, Race and Mush had got into a petty argument over Blink's mental well-being, even though both were now oblivious to Blink's self-inflicted, possible concussion causing actions. Snitch grabbed the boy's hair again, this time yanking up at the same moment that Blink intended to pound his head down, making Blink yelp exceptionally loud.

The next thing they knew they were seated on the sidewalk outside.

"Well at least there's no table for Blink now," Mush thought aloud, looking on the bright side.

"No, but there is that pole," Snitch pointed out. "Or the concrete." He tapped the road with his fist. "Nice and solid."

Racetrack scowled. "Yeah, well thanks ta you two we'se just got kicked outta Tibby's for the day," he accused. "An' I wanted anothah root beer god dammit!"

Mush opened his mouth to fight back, but Snitch spoke up first. "Wait, ya gotta finish the story!" he insisted.

"Oh, right," Race mused, monotone, scratching his chin, "So, Blink went off with Trip, and Sinker went off with Spot, but Blink wants Sinker and Sinker wants nothin' ta do with Blink—"

"Or Spot," Blink cut in.

"Yeah, sure, ya keep believin' that Blinky. Anyways, now Sink's ovah in Brooklyn with Spot and Blink's the new glum an' dumb," Racetrack concluded. He clapped Blink on the back. "Don' let it get ya down Blink, ya just gotta find a new goil."

Blink shook his head numbly. "It ain't that easy Race."

"Sure it is!" Racetrack declared. "It ain't hard at all, watch." Race winked at a passing young woman, clearly of a higher class, who scurried away, utterly horrified that a street rat would ever do such a thing. Race scowled. "Well…that ain't the point," he defended. "The point is, ya just gotta go out there and get a goil."

Blink looked up at his friends, a gloomy pout on his face. "Guys, what's love feel like?"

* * *

The sun gleamed down on Spot and Sinker as they soaked up the rays. They were sprawled out on the docks, drying off in silence.

"So why ya bein' so kind all a sudden?" Sinker asked, breaking the silence.

Spot propped himself up on his elbows, smirking down at Sinker, who merely raised an eyebrow. He let out a sigh, allowing for a few seconds of thought. "Well, I figured ya needed somethin' good in ya life."

Sinker furrowed her brow. "Whaddaya mean by that?"

Spot shrugged. "No newsie life is easy, but on top a all that, you'se gotta report back ta the big boys, too. It'd be one thing if ya chose ta do that, but ya didn't."

"So ya bein' nice ta me 'cause I'm a traitor?" Sinker deduced sarcastically.

"Well I'se got othah motives too," Spot smirked, inching closer.

Sinker rolled her eyes. "That's what I thought." She too propped herself on her elbows. "Ya know, it ain't evah gonna work," she told him pointedly.

Spot grinned. "Well I can try."

"Can't ya try some othah goil?"

"Now what fun would that be?" Spot replied, shaking his head 'no'.

"What about—" she stopped talking. She had been about to say 'What about Trip?' when she remembered the conversation Trip and she had had that morning. _Spot_ was the one who had sent Trip to get Blink away from Sinker. So why was she here with Spot? Why hadn't she recalled that fact until now? A sudden rage boiled in her blood. "Ya know what, nevahmind, you'se an ass." She clamored to her feet, picking up her clothes to begin putting them on over her still slightly damp undergarments.

Spot jumped up, confused and a little engraged. He had just taken her out to breakfast, why the hell was she complaining? "Whoa, what ya talkin' 'bout? I thought we'se was getting' along swimmingly," he smirked at his horrible pun.

Sinker glared. "_You_ are what's wrong! If it hadn' been for you, I'd be in 'Hattan, happy with _Blink_," she shouted. "But ya _had_ ta go and send Trip in ta complicate things; ya couldn' leave well enough alone!" She shoved her arms into her shirt, furiously buttoning the buttons.

Spot blinked. Damn Trip! He should have known she'd tell Sinker the whole god damn plan. Trip just had too big of a conscience. But Spot had a few tricks up his sleeve, a few plans he hadn't shared. He reached out to slow Sinker's actions, but the girl pulled away, scowling and sticking out her tongue, which made Spot smirk.

"Look, Sink, I'se got an offah ta make…"

* * *

Finding Speed was awfully hard, particularly when Trip had no idea where to look; her mind was so muddled by what Speed had hinted at with his comment. She couldn't figure out where the boy would run to. And boy could that newsie run. Trip wandered aimlessly, enjoying the light breeze that played with her hair. She hadn't braided it that morning, too busy ushering Sinker out of bed to bother.

She waved to a few passing newsies, wondering where Speed could have possibly gone when she finally saw him, right where he always went to be alone: the roof of the Brooklyn Lodging House. She sighed, glad to have found him, and a tad annoyed with herself for not thinking of the place sooner.

She ascended the stairs of the building, making her way up to one of the windows that would allow her to climb onto the roof and join Speed.

"Hey," she spoke quietly, cautiously creeping over to where Speed was plopped down.

Speed touched his hat in greeting, then returned to gazing out across the city. It was clear he wasn't going to begin any conversation, and Trip struggled to find words. She didn't know how to talk to Speed about a topic like this one. Hardly any boys had given her the time of day, and now Speed was sitting there, disappointed because _she_ had never been aware of _him_.

"Speed?"

"That would be me."

Trip sighed, licking her lips. "I didn' know ya liked me…like that…"

"I noticed."

"Ya know, it ain't completely my fault. It ain't like I get a lot of attention from, er, boys. And ya nevah gave me a definite sign or nothin'!" she half yelled. And it was true. Speed had no right to be angry with Trip; he never had given her a solid hunch to go off of.

Speed stared at her. "Is that what ya want? A 'definite sign'?" he sort of growled. "Is that all it would take ta get Spot off ya mind?" He added the question with obvious sarcasm.

Trip was suddenly very interested in looking at her hands. "No," she admitted, although they both already knew that.

Speed reached over and grasped Trip's chin firmly in his hand, pressing his lips to hers earnestly. Trip squeaked in shock, her mouth hanging open in surprise when he pulled away.

"Is that definite enough?"

Trip bit her lip.

Speed swallowed. "I thought it was worth a try."

And then he left, and Trip was alone.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I would just like to say, that I love Snitch and his silly little sayings :P he makes me happy ha ha. I hope you liked! Leave a review :D


	10. This Is How I Disappear

**Author's Note:** I was completely drained from my Psych exam today, but decided to update anyway!! Woo!! Thanks for your reviews, I love them! They keep me going and going and going, like the Energizer Bunny :D\

**Disclaimer:** Sinker, Speed, and Trip are my people

* * *

Sinker hadn't noticed how beautiful Manhattan was until that evening when she sat on the roof of the Lodging House, watching the sun set. Her hands were supporting her head and her elbows rested on her bent knees. Her life had changed so much in such a short amount of time that she could barely process any of it. And before she was able to even begin to put her thoughts into some sort of order, Blink plopped down, looking wholly apologetic and curious.

He never met Sinker's eyes, most likely out of embarrassment, but he did start talking. "So what did ya do t'day?" Blink asked awkwardly.

Sinker gave him a withering look that caused Blink to wring his hands and delve into a long, blubbering apology about nearly everything he had ever done in his life, ranging from stealing an apple to inadvertently setting Racetrack's favorite deck of cards on fire, which led to the burning of Mush's hat when Mush had tried to put out the flames. As Blink's rambling came to a halt, for Blink had to breath at some point, probably so he could continue on with his confessional, Sinker leaned over and pecked his cheek.

Blink went rigid with joy, then giddily turned to gaze at Sinker's face. She was smiling softly and a single tear track was visible on her cheek.

"Thank you Blink," she whispered.

Blink grinned and bent his head, kissing her lips gently. Sinker pulled away, eyes shut tight against the flood behind them, and shook her head.

"I'm sorry Blink," she said hoarsely.

Blink, thinking she was still agitated over the Trip situation, began to protest. "Sink, I'm sorry, she—"

Sinker's forced chuckle interrupted him. "It's not that," she replied wearily.

"Then what is it?" he questioned, pained.

"For what I'm goin' ta do," Sinker answered, hoisting herself to her feet and walking towards the window.

Blink jumped straight up. "Wait! Whaddaya mean by that?" he yelled as he clumsily skid across the shingles to get to her.

The look of sorrow in her eyes caught him off-guard. "You'll know soon enough," is all she offered before she disappeared into the building, leaving Blink to scratch at his head in thought.

* * *

"Wait. How do ya know she won't two-time us?" Trip asked suspiciously after Spot had told her of Sinker's double life and the plan Spot had thought up. "Once a rat, always a rat."

"Once annoyin', always annoyin'," Spot snapped moodily. "Now if you'se'll excuse me, I'se got a goil ta get." He grinned broadly at this, completely unaware of how many pieces Trip's heart had just broken in to.

She sneezed, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, and watched Spot dash out into the glare of the evening sun, glinting off the gold of his cane. Speed appeared behind her and placed a comforting hand on her shivering shoulder. "It'll be okay," he reassured, glancing down at Trip's pale face. Speed furrowed his brow at her anemic pallor. "Trip—?"

The newsgirl coughed profusely and collapsed into Speed's arms, dead weight as her head lolled back. "Trip!" Speed yelled, and several other newsies gathered around the scene, worried expressions dotted all around.

Speed, followed by an entourage of concerned boys, carried Trip up the stairs, laying her down on her cot. Trip's eyes fluttered for just a moment, and she whispered, "Thank ya Speed," before falling back into unconsciousness.

* * *

Sinker was sitting alone at a sticky table in Tibby's, sipping her mug of coffee slowly. She'd need the caffeine to keep her awake that night. As she sat waiting, her mind wandered to that afternoon.

_Sinker raised her eyebrow skeptically. "An offer?"_

_Spot nodded, a little grin trickling across his face. "Yup."_

"_And what might that offer be?" Sinker asked cautiously._

_Spot's reply had surprised her. "An offer of freedom."_

Sinker glanced out the window, a tad impatient even though she knew she was early to Tibby's. The stars were twinkling now, just above the pale horizon where the last rays of light were disappearing. She wondered if the view was any different in Brooklyn.

"_Whaddaya mean by that?" Sinker questioned, suspicious about Spot's motive._

_Spot chuckled. "Easy, easy, I ain't suggestin' nothin' doity like. But I know you'se don' care much for what ya do for Pulitzer," Spot had taken on a serious tone. "And what I'm offerin' ya is freedom and protection. You'se tell everyone what you'se been up to, and you'se'll be free."_

"_And no one in 'Hattan will trust me—" Sinker began to argue, but Spot clapped his hand over her mouth, so all that came out was a muffled "mmrrmfff" noise._

_He raised an eyebrow. "Don' interrupt," he warned with a smirk. "Now aftah you'se come clean, I'se'll take ya in as a Brooklyn newsie and teach ya the ways a the tough. No one'll mess with ya again." Spot removed his palm from Sinker's lips._

"_Ya want me ta tell all a Manhattan that I'se been workin' for Pulitzer? Are you insane?" Sinker screamed._

_Spot defended himself. "No, but that way you'se don' have ta work for Pulitzer no more an' ya don' have ta worry 'bout 'im rattin' ya out, 'cause you'se'll've already done it."_

"_And you'se'll what?" Sinker replied sarcastically. "Be me body guard?"_

_Spot smirked. "Sure. Then I'd get ta follow ya around. Everywhere."_

_Sinker was thinking about Spot's offer too intently to catch his innuendo. She could be free of Pulitzer forever. Free from her father. Free from the guilt she felt about her job. She glanced over at Spot's stormy eyes. He was being serious. "I need ta think this ovah," she informed him._

"_That's wise," he nodded. "You'se can go back ta 'Hattan and I'se'll meet ya at Tibby's t'night, when the sun sets."_

_Sinker gulped. "Yeah," she agreed._

And here she was, waiting on a boy who had offered to save her from the life she had been living. But could she leave Manhattan—Blink to be precise—behind? She had made up her mind, but she was getting cold feet, unsure whether she could go through with it or not.

She had been staring at the swirling pool of coffee in her mug intensely when her thoughts were once again interrupted.

Blink's voice carried hollowly from the stool he was perched on at the opposite end of the counter. "So that's why you'se're sorry." He nodded his head to the window. Sinker glanced through the glass. In the distance, steadily coming nearer, was the figure of Spot. "You'se goin' ta be with him."

"No, Blink—"

Blink half-smiled, that same look of longing in his blue eye. "Sink, 's okay. I don' blame ya or nothin'." He hopped off his stool and extended his hand. Sinker looked at it, her stomach lurching at the gesture. Blink gulped. "Friends?"

"Blink, I—"

"Please," he whispered. "Just shake."

Sinker slowly drew her eyes from his hand to his eye, which was moist and slightly red around the rim.

"Yeah," Sinker squeaked out, nodding her head and willing herself not to cry.

They grasped each others hands, just holding on, until Blink kissed her cheek tenderly and left as Spot was coming through the door. They tipped their hats at each other, both aware of the tension palpable in the air.

Spot weaved his way over to Sinker, who watched Blink's silhouette until it melted into the dusky evening hues. The newsboy next to her cleared his throat, winning her attention. "So…"

"Yeah," Sinker ground out, a bitter taste at the back of her mouth. "I'm goin'."

It took all of Spot's self control not to jump into the air and click his heels together in triumph. He had got the girl. Of course, he knew he would. Because he was Spot Conlon, and no one could resist a piece of him. He barely concealed his smirk while he said, "Well why don' we get goin'?"

Sinker looked disbelievingly at him. "Why would we go ta Brooklyn at night?"

In an attempt to comfort Sinker, who was looking a little worse for wear and quite distressed, Spot reached over and gently took her hand in his, making her jump. "So we can see the stars." It was one of the corniest things he had ever said to a girl, but this time he meant it. "Because they'se beautiful." And then, for possibly the first time in Spot's life, his eyes took on a shy demeanor. "Like you."

Sinker met his eyes, searching for some sort of mocking twinkle. But even the glint of coldness that was ever-present in Spot's eyes was gone, and all that was left was warmth.

Maybe Brooklyn wouldn't be such a bad change.

* * *

**Author's Note:** La la la! Ha ha, I'm a little loopy from all the studying I've been doing lately...I hope this chapter was decent :D Review Review Review!! And you shall be rewarded!


	11. You've Angered the Box

**Author's Note:** First off, I would just like to apologize profusely for the lack of updates! Life has been increasingly hectic! Secondly, I would also like to apologize for anything grammatically wrong or any typos, it's late at night, I'm tired, but I figured I'd post since I had time for once! And lastly, thank you for your reviews, I really enjoy reading them and hearing what you think, I'm so sorry I kept you waiting so long!

**Disclaimer:** I only own Sinker, Trip, Speed, and Box

* * *

The moment Spot and Sinker arrived in Brooklyn they were rushed up the stairs and into the room in which Speed had laid Trip. It was obvious just by looking at the girl that she was in need of medical attention. Spot shooed everyone but Speed and Sinker from the room, then knelt by Trip and felt her forehead. He closed his eyes, thinking; even with every newsie's miniscule amount of pennies they would still be unable to afford a doctor. There was only one thing, one person, that came to Spot's mind, and he sighed, dreading what he knew he had to do.

But Sinker spoke before he did. "I can go ta Pulitzer," she whispered, as if she was still contemplating the thought herself, making both Speed and Spot look up at her in confusion. "He's gotta lotta money; he can get some doc ta help."

The look on Speed's face showed that he was up for anything so long as it helped Trip, and although Spot seemed relieved, he cautiously replied, "Ya don' work fer Pulitzer now."

Sinker shook her head. "But he don' know that yet."

Spot thought about that. True, Sinker hadn't announced that she had been under the thumb of Pulitzer, and she hadn't told Pulitzer that she was done with his bull shit. Sinker's idea just might pan out.

Spot nodded. "Go."

* * *

Sinker pounded desperately on the front door of the World building. Pulitzer had to be there. He just _had_ to be. The newspaper tycoon's henchman, Tyler, wrenched the door open, a look of disgust on his face. "You?" he spat.

"Yeah, me," Sinker grimaced right back. "I gotta talk ta Pulitzer."

Tyler raised an eyebrow mockingly. "And if I'se told ya Pulitzah weren't heah?"

"Open the door!" Sinker yelled impatiently, angered at Tyler's time-consuming antics. She didn't know how much time she—or rather Trip—had, and she needed to speak to Pulitzer.

Tyler was about to squeak out another snide remark, but a voice grumbled behind the door. "What is all this racket?"

"Jus' a street rat," Tyler answered, pulling a face at Sinker before Pulitzer shoved him out of the way.

He gave Sinker the same condescending look that Tyler had showed her. "Yes?" he asked rudely.

Sinker clenched her fists. "I need a favor," she admitted.

Pulitzer snorted. "You hear that, Tyler? Sasha needs a favor."

Sinker ignored the man's comment and continued. "I need ya ta send a doctor to the Brooklyn Lodging House."

"And why would I do that?" Pulitzer questioned, wrinkling his nose.

"Because one a their newsies is dyin'—"

"One less newsie, one less nuisance," Pulitzer shrugged.

Sinker had thought Pulitzer would say something like that; she crossed her arms determinedly. "I'll quit," she informed him, looking the man square in the eyes.

Pulitzer raised a brow and began laughing loudly, drawing the attention of the early morning Manhattan crowd. Sinker began to shift from one foot to the other nervously. Pulitzer abruptly stopped his chuckling and rounded on the newsgirl with a red face. "You think I'd _care_ if you quit? Not only would I be able to get another little weasel to work for me, but I'd tell all your little buddies about you as well."

Sinker gulped. "Maybe they already know," she replied quietly.

"Hah!" Pulitzer gestured to a group of young newsies passing by. "Boys!" he called out.

"No!" Sinker involuntarily screamed.

A smug look crossed Pulitzer's face. "So they don't know. Well, this is what happens when you try to turn the tables on me, Sasha; maybe you'll learn from this mistake." He continued to signal for the young boys to come closer.

"No!" Sinker shouted again.

"Sink?"

Tyler chuckled darkly as the trio on the World building's steps watched the majority of the Manhattan newsies crowd closer. "No, no, no," was all Sinker could whisper to herself.

"Hello," Pulitzer greeted them coldly.

Some of the boys nodded in an equally chilly fashion, some didn't even bother. Blink's eye was glued on Sinker, who was glaring in Pulitzer's direction, tears brimming in her own eyes.

"Now," Pulitzer announced. "Sasha here has a little something to say to you all." He smiled evilly at the trembling girl. "Go ahead, Sasha, tell them all how you've been working for me." A ripple of confusion spread throughout the swarm of young men. Pulitzer jokingly put his hand over his mouth. "Oops, I appear to have told them for you."

Sinker couldn't handle it anymore. Something inside her cracked, snapped clean in half, and the next thing she knew she was lunging, fists first, at Pulitzer's pleased face.

Then everything went black.

* * *

Night was falling quickly on Brooklyn, and Spot had taken to pacing. He said it helped him stay calm, but it really didn't. He was worried. Worried about what was going to happen to Trip. Worried about what was taking Sinker so long. Deep in the pit of his stomach Spot knew they weren't going to be able to persuade Pulitzer to help. He glanced up at Speed, who hadn't stopped gazing at Trip since Spot had got back. He knew he only had one option.

"Speed," Spot croaked, breaking the silence. "Go get Box."

Speed hesitated. "…Box?"

"That's what I said, ain't it?"

Speed nodded, looking at Trip, then sprinting out into the oncoming twilight in the direction of Midtown.

* * *

Sinker blinked, her head was throbbing as her vision attempted to clear, only to see the disappointed faces of Jack and Racetrack. Racetrack shook his head and exited Sinker's line of vision. "Ow," she moaned.

"Oh, you'se're fine," she heard Racetrack's voice retort.

Sinker hefted herself onto her elbows with the help of Mush. "Wha?" she groggily got out.

Jack rolled his eyes, lounging on the end of the bed. "That Tyler fellow got ya good right befoah ya got a hit at Pulitzer," he explained.

The memory of the scene at the World building cam flooding painfully back. "Oh." She looked around. Jack, Racetrack, Mush, Skittery, and Boots were gathered by the bunk they had set her on, all but Mush looking none to happy. "Why…why are ya…ya know…"

"Helpin'?" Skittery supplied. "Who knows?"

Mush punched Skittery in the arm. "Be nice!"

"She's a traitor Mush!" Skittery pointed out, making Sinker flinch at the term.

"Yeah, for our side," Mush defended. Good ole Mush.

Jack interrupted, bringing the feud to an end. "We'se helpin' 'cause Mush insisted we do. Said ya deserved a chance ta explain."

So Mush had saved her life again. She nodded her thanks to the curly-haired newsboy, who grinned in return.

"So ya best start explainin'," Skittery grumbled, receiving as fierce a glare as Mush could muster.

Sink took a deep breath. "Pulitzer wanted a spy, a look-out, so he asked around his staff for someone a the right age," she began. "One day someone ovahheard my dad complainin' bout me and thought I was a guy, next thing I know, Pulitzer's enlistin' me ta work for him." She could tell the boys were having a hard time swallowing her story. "Look," she started again. "I didn' wanna do it, but I didn' have a choice. Then Spot came and said he'd protect me if I joined Brooklyn, but when we'se got there…" Sinker's eyes popped wide. "Shit!" She tried to spring from the bed, but swayed dizzily until Mush grabbed her arm to steady her. "It's Trip," Sinker exclaimed. "She's sick; she needs help; that's why I came."

"Well ya can't make it back ta Brooklyn like that," came a voice from the door. Everyone looked up to see Blink, leaning almost casually on the doorframe. There was a thick silence as Sinker and Blink stared at each other. "I'll stay heah ta watch Sinker," he offered. "You'se all can go see if you'se can help."

Jack nodded, understanding that Blink wanted some time alone with Sinker, so he rounded up the newsies in the room and headed out the door.

When the two were alone, Blink shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced up at Sinker bashfully. She looked down at the bed sheet. "Ya know, I ain't a baby, I don' need ta be watched," she reminded him.

Blink grinned, sitting down at the end of the bed and cautiously taking her hand. "I don' mind," he whispered.

* * *

"Wow, Spot, wow," Jack breathed out, trying to hold his smirk back. "I can't believe ya made Speed go get Box…"

Spot was rubbing at his forehead, pacing at a momentum faster than he ever had before. "I know, I know, but god damn it Jack, what else was I supposed ta do?" he asked, almost whined, except that Spot never whined. "Box trained ta be a nurse, she's gotta know somthin'."

"But will she come?" Jack asked. "I mean, ya didn' exactly leave each othah on good terms…"

The door of the lodging house banged open loudly and Speed plodded in, the answer to Jack's question right behind him. A slim, black haired, fair skinned young woman in relatively clean clothes stomped past the two leaders. "I shouldn't be surprised," she hissed as she went up the stairs. "Everything goes wrong when Spot's involved."

Jack peeked at Spot's glowing red face. "Well, she came."

Spot was so out of his element that he couldn't even make a dirty reference at Jack's statement.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well, there's the chapter, I hope it's okay. We meet a new character, so that's always fun, even though it's brief, but I can't wait to write more with Box. She's sure going to give poor Spot a run for his money ;D Review please! And I'll get the next chapter going as soon as I can, summer is on the way, and with summer comes free time, and with free time comes chapters!! Woo!!


	12. I'm So Sick

**Author's Notes:** Oh no! This chapter is a tad short :( But I hope you enjoy it anyway :D Thanks again for reviews, yay!!

**Disclaimer:** I own Sinker, Trip, Speed, and Box

* * *

Box was bustling distractedly around the bed in which Trip was now propped. The newcomer had kicked everyone from the room but Speed, who she had demanded sit somewhere out of the way. Now Spot was watching from the door, attempting to figure out in his head just how he had managed to allow one of his newsies to fall ill. His mind was backtracking as precisely as possible, sifting through the days, trying to pin-point when Trip had begun to show any symptoms, which Spot realized he had been too ignorant to pay attention to.

Spot Conlon wasn't one to give up easily, but after quite a few minutes of retracing the events of the past weeks, he was beginning to feel awfully discouraged, until his thoughts landed on that dreary day that he had sent Trip running to Manhattan after the Brooklyn party took place. "God dammit," he swore to himself, pounding a fist to his temple in anger. Why had he been so stupid? So foolish. Trip had already been exhausted that day as it was; and he made it worse. Fatally worse.

The door creaking wider caught his attention and Spot saw a glimpse of Speed kneeling, hunched over the bed, before the door was closed. Box's eyes were burning holes in Spot's tormented figure. "She's got influenza," Box informed him. "It's not clear whether she'll survive, but I'm staying here until I'm sure she's on the road to recovery." Spot sighed, that statement was certainly reassuring, considering he had no idea how to handle influenza. "Because," Box added, "Unlike _someone_, I actually care about my friend's well being." She made as if to walk away, but Spot caught her by the wrist, anger swelling inside him, shoving her harshly against the wall, a murderous glint in his eye. Box looked him up and down, then hissed, "In case your memory is faulty, I'd be more than happy to remind you exactly why I'm referred to as 'Box'."

Spot released her, but refused to move out of the young woman's way. "What makes you think I don't care?" he growled. "Can ya not see how terrible I feel 'bout this?"

Box rolled her eyes and offered up a dry laugh. "You only care about yourself Spot. Not only do I know from personal experience, but you just asked if I could see how terrible _you_ feel," she pointed out. "You want me to tell you how terrible _Trip_ is feeling right about now?"

Spot gulped. It was as if Box had landed a well aimed hit to his unsuspecting gut. She was right. He knew it. But his pride reared it's ugly head and he turned away before acknowledging the truth in Box's statement, heading down the Lodging House stairs to the waiting newsies.

Box shook her head in disappointment and the last thing Spot heard her murmur was, "Hasn't changed a bit."

* * *

Blink brushed a loose strand of Sinker's hair away from her face. She smiled shyly and glanced away. They had talked through their misunderstandings and their haphazardous love life. If it could be considered that. Both of them had hurt the other, and neither were sure if they could heal; they simply knew it would be easier to heal with the other at their side. They had been exchanging goofy faces and laughing lightly for quite some time when they were interrupted by a voice.

"Are ya just gonna _stare_ at each othah?"

Blink and Sinker looked up, startled, at the doorway. Boots and Snipeshooter were standing there with eager, yet let down, expressions on their faces, as if waiting for some sort of exciting event to take place. Blink and Sinker exchanged a confused glance before returning their eyes to the younger expectant newsies.

"Ain't ya even gonna kiss or anythin'?" Snipeshooter inquired nosily.

Sinker looked shocked, but Blink began to chuckle casually at the boy's question. "Get outtah heah," he jokingly ordered with a good-natured grin.

Boots and Snipeshooter sighed dejectedly, exiting the premises with heads hung. Sinker allowed a laugh to escape her lips at their retreating forms. "Is it just me, or do they seem too young ta want ta have seen us doin' that?"

Blink grinned. "Since when did ya become such a mom? They'se been like that evah since Race took 'em to a vaudeville show that turned out ta be much more," he laughed. "Jack wasn't too happy either."

"I can see why," Sinker smiled, raising her eyebrows.

Blink nodded. "Race practically dragged 'em out right off the bat. Maybe it's a phase. But, they do have a point," he mused.

Sinker peered over at Blink, puzzled. "Point? What point?"

And just like that, Blink leaned over and captured Sinker's lips with his own. This time she let him.

Snipeshooter smirked at Boots from where they were spying at the doorway. "_Told_ ya it'd happen."

* * *

Spot slumped in the chair he had decided to sit in. Racetrack, Jack, and Mush were playing a lazy round of poker, but Spot had waved away their invitation to join in. It was a wonder he hadn't taken to pacing. Yet. He was sure he'd jump out of his seat at any second and begin to walk a hole in the floor.

"Still can't believe she came," Jack mumbled from across the table to the worried leader of the Brooklyn newsies. Race laughed, his mind thinking dirty, as per usual.

Spot merely nodded in return, too occupied with old memories to respond verbally. Mush gave Jack an inquisitive glance. "And why is that Jack?" he asked.

Jack grinned, staring at the boy that was now chewing his fingernails. "Can I tell 'em?"

Spot gave a curt nod. "Sure, Jacky-boy, tell 'em whatevah ya want."

"Okay then," Jack began, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands behind his head. "So, bout a year or so ago, Spot heah actually got serious with a goil, as in long-term." Racetrack snorted in disbelief, but Jack held up a hand to stop him from interrupting. "Now hold on there, Race, lemme continue. So, Spot is head ovah heels for this dame, and she's practically in love with Spot. But one day, a new goil come along—"

"Box?" Mush wanted to clarify.

"No not Box. Box is the foist goil, Mush. Pay attention," Jack scolded, causing Mush to wearily gaze at his shoelaces. "So anyway, this new goil comes along and begins ta get as close ta Spot as possible, if ya's know what I mean," he wiggled his eyebrows for emphasis and Racetrack and Mush leaned in closer. "And Spot being Spot," Jack shrugged and the other boys nodded, knowing very well Spot had trouble turning down any girl, no matter the situation. "Needless ta say, Box found out and got out. Outtah Brooklyn, and outtah Spot's life."

"So why'd he call 'er back?" Race asked.

"She's a nurse in Midtown, Race," Spot finally spoke up. "Had enough a life as a newsie aftah I let 'er down. Just like I let Trip down." Spot hung his head. "Who knows if she'll stay a newsie or not. Who knows if she'll get a chance ta choose."

The trio of Manhattaners were silent as the grave at Spot's statement. Never had Spot acknowledged any of his faults. Everyone knew he could see his wrong doings, but he simply refused to claim them as his own mistakes. Until now. Until the possible death of a newsie who had devoted her life so wholly to the King of Brooklyn. Mush brought his eyes up to the distraught boy. "She'll be okay," he assured Spot, whose head suddenly snapped up.

He looked with clear eyes to the newsies in front of him. "Sinker?" he asked, needing to know what had become of the girl.

A shadow passed over Jack and Race's faces. "She'll live," Jack said bitterly.

"Unfortunately," Race spat, flinching as Mush punched him in the arm forcefully.

Rage burned in Spot's eyes, and Racetrack was nearly certain he could feel the heat rolling over his body, making him gulp. "Sinker did what she had to ta survive," Spot defended. "I told 'er I'd protect 'er, and if any a ya lay a hand on 'er—"

"'Ey!" Race interrupted the rambling young man, holding up his hands in a form of surrender. "Blink an' Mush are ahead a ya, my friend. Nothin's gonna happen ta Sinker on their watch." Mush beamed proudly.

"Nor mine," Spot added darkly. It was high time he held up his part of the bargain, he decided. And for the first time since Trip had taken ill, Spot felt good, for just one moment, as he thought of Sinker, safe in Blink's arms, right where she belonged.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yay for Blink and Sinker!!! I love Blink :) and Mush :) and Spot :) and Race :)

So leave a review my friends and I'll be working on my stories!!!

Thanks! :D


	13. Confrontations of Hate and the Heart

**Author's Note: **Hey guys, I know it's been horribly long since I last posted and I want to appologize profusely! I am so sorry that it took so long, it's taking long with all of my stories because things are getting very hectic in my life right now. But I realize that that should be no excuse. I finally got this chapter out, and it's about 600 words longer than the last chapter, so thats good, right? And I'm actually kind of proud of this chapter, so I hope you guys enjoy it even after the ungodly wait! Sorry!

**Disclaimer:** You all know who's not mine :)

* * *

"No. Ya mad if ya think I'll let ya."

"Blink, I'm a big goil, I can handle it." Sinker smiled and reached her hand out to clasp Blink's. It was the next day and Sinker was itching to travel to Brooklyn and see how Trip and Spot were doing.

Skittery had come back in the evening and explained what was going on. From his account it seemed as if Spot was miserable, and Trip was at least getting some medical attention.

Blink squeezed Sinker's hand in understanding, but stood his ground. "I'm not gonna let ya go, Sink. Ya too weak." He noticed the slight gleam of anger flash through her eyes and grinned. "I didn' mean _you'se_ was weak. I meant with ya injury."

Sinker sighed exasperatedly. "Blink, I'm goin' ta Brooklyn; ya can't stop me."

The newsie ran his loose hand through his golden hair. "Alrigh'," he relented. "But! I go with ya," he added before Sinker's smirk had a chance to fully appear on her face.

"Blink!" Sinker groaned. There was nothing she would have enjoyed more than being with Blink. So long as it wasn't in Brooklyn. Blink, although usually forgiving, was choosing for some reason to hold onto his bitter resentment towards Spot for coming into the picture.

He stood stubbornly next to Sinker, a determined look set in place. "Fine," Sinker breathed out, "But be good."

"Am I evah anythin' but?" Blink asked as a smile graced his lips.

Sinker chuckled and pulled him towards the door, "C'mon ya bum!"

* * *

Box was sitting at a table, complaining about the disgraceful upkeep of the Lodging House to no one in particular when the front door creaked open. She mentally noted that Spot should be more than able to purchase some grease to fix the irritating noise and decided to remind him about it later if she could think of nothing else to get under his skin. Kid Blink entered with a girl at his side, a determined expression plastered on both of their faces. Box raised an eyebrow in contemplation. A new girl? She had been out of the business too long she thought as she watched Spot waltz across the room to greet the two. Mainly the girl, Box noticed.

Kid and Spot exchanged curt nods, but Spot's attention was soon back on the female. Typical. A few words and bobs of the head later, and Spot was ushering the two up the stairs. Box jumped from her seat, intercepting the trio just as they were about to begin their ascension. "No visitors," she glared deep into Spot's eyes as she wormed her way onto the step ahead of the group.

"C'mon Box," Spot pleaded, glancing behind him and then back at her, as if begging her not to pettily embarrass him in front of people with her medical knowledge. "Sink's the closest thing to a friend that ain't a boy that Trip's got."

Box's eyes bugged out from her head and her face reddened. "Excuse me?"

Spot rolled his steely eyes, plucking up some of his dignity which seemed to be scattered whenever the feisty ex-newsgirl entered the conversation. "Ya can't considah yourself her close friend anymoah, Box. Ya ain't been around for a while."

Box placed her hands defiantly on her hips. "And whose fault is that?"

Spot pursed his lips, turning to look at Blink and Sinker for some support. Blink was in no mood to help the leader of Brooklyn; in fact, Blink was enjoying watching the mighty Spot flounder in hot water. But Sinker sensed Spot could use a companion at the moment and stepped up to the plate. "Look," she began. "We'se ain't gonna disturb her or nothin', we jus' wanna see how she is."

"And who are you?" Box asked rudely.

Sinker raised an eyebrow. "Does it matter?" she challenged the hoity-toity control freak of a nurse before her.

"How am I to determine whether you truly are friends with Trip if I don't even know your name?" Box replied, nose in the air.

"Spot says so, ain't that good enough?" Sinker spat.

Box laughed loudly, "Oh, so just because Spot says something means it's true?"

Sinker rolled her eyes. Clearly the girl had something against Spot and there was no point in dragging Spot back into the argument, not only would that be digging a deeper hole for the leader, but it would get Sinker no closer to visiting Trip. "I doubt knowing my name'd help, considerin' you'se ain't been 'round," Sinker snarled, angered at the girl's attitude and blatant disrespect for Spot, who, overall, had been relatively charming to Sinker.

"The nerve!" Box hissed as Sinker's direct jab.

"Yeah, yeah, lemme by," Sinker demanded, attempting to shove Box aside.

Blink and Spot winced at Sinker's rash action, immediately reaching out and sweeping Sinker behind them, forming a wall between her and the infamous rage of Box. "Hey!" Sinker protested.

"Right now would be a good time ta be quiet," Spot warned, spinning back around to face Box, whose cheeks were red.

Blink was trying to calm her down, reassuring her that Sinker just wanted to see Trip, but Box was having none of it. "I will take her out," Box yelled, drawing the attention of the other Lodging House occupants.

Someone from the above floor leaned over the railing to bark "Shaddup!" but once the newsboy in question actually looked to see whose argument he had disrupted, he scampered back to wherever he had been trying to sleep. _Everyone_ in the vicinity knew not to bother Box. Ever.

"It's okay!" Blink assured the onlookers, waving off the tension awkwardly. "Go back ta your knittin'."

"Box," Spot began explaining with a cold glint in his eye. "Forget it. Sinker didn' mean anythin' by it. See, she recently got hit in the head." He leaned in closer to the pissed off newsie and whispered, although not quite low enough so that Sinker couldn't hear, "We ain't sure she's right in the noggin' yet."

"Hey!"

"Ya did get hit in the head!" Spot replied shortly, his nerves shot from dealing with Box so often in the past few days. "Anyway, jus' let 'er see Trip," Spot said softly, but he wasn't asking for passage, because, although soft-spoken, the statement had been an order, stabbing Box's frail act at being the one in charge.

"I swear to God, I hate Brooklyn so much," Box spat out, slipping past the three newsies and to the door. She wrenched it open, sending the rusting hinges to screaming. "And buy some God damn grease!" she shrieked before disappearing outside.

Spot ran his hands through his messy hair, sighing. "Trip's just up the stairs," he directed Blink and Sinker. "I gotta go aftah her." He nodded to the door that Box had left hanging open.

The Manhattaners nodded, starting up the stairs as Spot bolted out after Box.

* * *

The wind blew fiercely onto the docks, whipping Box's hair in her face. Why she had gone to the docks was a mystery to her. She had been avoiding them for months. Avoiding the whole of Brooklyn for months. Ever since that day she had come back to the Lodging House, triumphantly flicking a coin into the air, grinning from ear to ear after beating her personal best in selling papers. Her glee had been trampled when a young woman in a gaudy dress had giggled her way down the steps, followed by a giddy Spot, a ridiculous smirk plastered on his face as he followed the whore like a lovesick puppy.

Box's coin fell to the wooden floor with a clatter, spinning until she stomped it to a stop, breaking up Spot's happy little afternoon jaunt. Had he been carrying this on the entire time? She wondered. She had given Spot everything. Her life, her heart, her soul. Everything that she possibly could have given him she had, except for that one thing that every guy wanted, the _only_ thing a guy wanted, she realized.

Now, scrunching her nose up in pain of the memory, she wondered why she had come to the very place she had met the leader of Brooklyn, the place they had shared their first kiss, gone skinny dipping in the moonlight. She had been so stupid back then, over half a year ago. In so little time she had grown older, colder. She had detached herself from Brooklyn, because of the hurt, and from Manhattan, because of it's close connections with Brooklyn. It was no secret that Spot and Jack relied on each other heavily.

Heavy footfalls behind her alerted Box to another person on the docks. Warm hands perched on her shoulders, turning her around. She glared into the waiting eyes of Spot. He held her gaze, apologizing silently for expecting her to follow his directions. She was, after all, a guest in Brooklyn at the moment, not one of his newsies that he could boss around like a pet. But she needed to understand that she could not undermine his authority either. He had worked long and hard to reach the position of leader, and those that dwell in the inner sanctions of the newsie world had to respect those in charge. Spot knew Box was aware of that point, so he felt no need to verbally remind her of his command.

Box bit her lip, exhaling shakily, "Well, this is a first, Spot Conlon chasing after a girl."

"Actually, I'se've been chasin' Sinker foah the fun o' it recently," he let slip cockily from his lips before thinking. He mentally slapped himself when she flared her nostrils and stepped away from his soft touch; why was he unable to say the right thing with her? "Box, that ain't how I meant foah that ta come out."

She snorted sarcastically. "Well obviously." She threw her hands in the air and spun to face him again. "I just don't understand why I wasn't enough," she choked. "I left my life for you. I had a home, I had parents that loved me, or at least I thought they did, I had a cat for heaven's sake! I mean, can you say you ever had a cat?" She looked at him, her voice rising hysterically.

Spot swallowed, unsure as to where she was going with this. "Uh, no, I ain't nevah had a cat...as in the animal," he grinned. This time he physically hit himself in the forehead for the stupid innuendo that had dripped from his tongue. It was official, he was an idiot when it came to seriously talking to girls.

Box crossed her arms. "I left my life of wealth and love be with you, and you threw me out on the curb while you played upstairs," she growled, much like an angry cat, Spot wanted to point out, but was able to hold it back somehow. "And guess what Spot," she continued as tears began to prick her eyes. "They didn't want me back in their perfect life. Do you know what they told everyone? What they told their friends when I was no longer at home? What they told _my_ friends? Of which I had plenty," she assured him of her prior popularity, wiping at the salty tears harshly, as if trying to rip her skin off. Box stared at Spot, who was standing with his hands deep in the pockets of his pants, observing Box's meltdown with his head tilted ever-so-slightly up, waiting for his reply.

"No," Spot admitted, just as she wanted him to, "I don' know what they told people."

Box gulped. "They told everyone I was dead. And when I begged on my hands and knees to be let back home, do you know what they said?" She bit her lip as Spot shook his head, lowering his chin so that he was looking solemnly through his lashes at the shivering girl in front of him. "They said, 'Now how would the neighbors react if you suddenly rose from the dead?' My own parents that I thought had cared about me, that I imagined being scared out of their pants once I disappeared, said 'what would the neighbors think'." Box took in a deep breath. "I guess a friend of my father's had seen me selling papes on a corner one day and tipped my family off. And that's when they decided I had died. I had drowned. Here." She motioned to the docks. Then she laughed coldly. "Me? Drown? They didn't know me well apparently. You remember how amazing a swimmer I was, don't you?" Box was grasping at straws, hopelessly wishing to find someone that would give her one little bit of positive feedback besides the overweight nurses and perverted doctors that currently trained her in the medical field.

Spot strode over to where Box was shaking in anger and shame and hurt and grief. She took one step back before he caught her, and once he grabbed her freezing hand, she fell into his lean arms and went limp, letting out the flood of tears that had been threatening to let loose since she had left Brooklyn. Spot wiped tears off Box's face, stroking her hair back and out of her eyes. He shushed her, letting her know he was there for her as they crouched down on the wooden surface of the docks, slowly falling into a sitting position. "It's okay," he whispered.

She blew her nose, loudly for someone who earlier had been acting as if they were queen of the world, and shook her head, "Spot, don't you understand? I loved you." She lifted her head to look at him with bleary eyes. "And I still do."

* * *

**Author's Note:** So now we know more about Box's past than what most of the newsies know of her past. But what's gonna happen next huh? Will Trip ever get better? Will Sinker and Blink stay together happily, or will they go through some rough patches? How will Spot react to Box's confession of love? And what has become of Speed? Who, I'm sorry to say to those of you who even remember Speed, hasn't been present in chapters as of late, but I'm working hard on getting him into the next chapter hopefully :D because even if none of you like him, _I_ like him, so I'm trying to write him in more. So leave a review! Once again, I appologize for the lack of timeliness in my update! Please forgive me!


	14. Dizzy Up the Girl

**Author's Note:** Well, finally, another chapter! I'm sorry, I've just been struggling with major writer's block with every single one of my stories and it sucks to have writer's block, as I'm sure you all know. But thankfully I was able to crank this action packed chapter out at midnight (ironically I'm most creative late at night, which makes me very sluggish the next day, but it's all for you guys, because I love you all) So hopefully you enjoy :D

Also, there is a bit of swearing in this chapter, including one f**k, a few sh*ts, and a son of b*tch...with that said, continue...

**Disclaimer:** Sinker, Box, Trip, and Speed are mine :) the rest belongs to Disney...for now

* * *

Box and Spot sat in silence as the waves lapped lazily against the docks. He stared down into her lost and searching eyes, holding her close. "What?" he whispered, afraid his ears were playing tricks on him.

Box's eyes widened. "I love you Spot," she replied, voice shaking.

Spot opened his mouth to say something cunning and smart, something that would make her laugh and cling to him all the more, but all that came out was a rather flat, "Oh."

He could see the disappointment in the line forming across Box's forehead. "Oh?" she repeated, deflated.

Spot gulped. How was he supposed to respond to something like that? He wanted to say the right thing; the thing he was thinking. That he had never forgotten her, not even in his most heated moments with other girls whose names he had long forgotten, that Sink was an amazing person but could never ever compete with Box when it came to matters of the heart, that he loved her, too. But it wasn't coming out. He just stared down at her with his mouth open like a goldfish with a three second memory.

Licking her lips, Box lowered her eyes and took a deep breath, untangling herself from Spot's arms and turning to walk back down the docks, not in the direction of the Brooklyn Lodging House, but in the direction of Midtown. She paused when she was a few feet away and glanced over her shoulder. Spot was still crouched on the wooden planks beneath him, eyes glued to her figure. "There's nothing more I can do for Trip," she called out over the wind. "I'm sure she'll be fine. I'll come back to check on her in a few days." Biting her lip she quietly said, "Good-bye Spot."

Spot watched as she disappeared from his sight, back to Midtown. He had done it again. Hurt her again. Why couldn't he just accept how he felt for her and give into it? Why did he continue to chase after girls that didn't, and would never, mean anything more to him than a toy for the night. Sure, he was grateful he had decided to pursue Sinker, merely because he had gained someone special to his ranks, someone that would listen to him, but once again he thought of how Sinker would never be able to compare to the way Box tugged on his ever tight heartstrings.

Finally, after he realized that it was drizzling, Spot rose from his position, cracking his knees and back as he did so. His body felt so much older than the years it actually was. So why couldn't his actions mature too?

* * *

The sun was shining bright the next morning as Sink meandered through the Manhattan streets. Blink, she, and the rest of Manhattan's newsies had returned yesterday evening after giving their condolences to Trip. Spot had come back to the Lodging House defeated and with clouded, haunted eyes, in no mood to be a good host to Trip's visitors.

With a spring in her step, Sinker hawked the headlines with a gusto she had never seemed to be able to muster before. It was one of her first days selling papers by herself, and holding the two she had left of the fifty she had begun with in the crook of her arm, she felt a wave of triumph wash over her. She knew Trip would be okay. She felt it in her gut. The girl had had more color in her face than earlier, according to Speed, who stayed loyally beside Trip's bed throughout everyone's visit. And there was just that feeling in the air. Adding to Sinker's elation was the fact that she and Blink had made up, Spot had given her his word that she'd be welcome in Brooklyn anytime, as either a visitor or a fulltime newsgirl, and numerous Manhattan newsies were close to forgiving her completely for her prior mistake involving Pulitzer. A good day was in the making.

It was after Sink had handed out her second to last pape that she was abruptly grabbed from behind, a hand covering her mouth to mute the scream that desperately attempted escape, and was dragged into a nearby alley. She found herself thrown into a pile of wooden crates that immediately fell about her tossed body. Shaking her head to try to clear the lights that had sparked before her eyes at the impact, Sinker stared up into the cold, cruel eyes of her father. He slammed his fist into her cheek, causing her head to snap back and her world to spin. "Ya think ya can git away that easily from me goil?" he spat with disgust, spraying bile down upon the dazed girl. "Ya think it's okay ta fuck up my life, do ya?"

Another smack across the face had Sinker spitting up blood as she attempted to scurry out of the reach of her father's unforgiving fists. She picked up the nearest crate to her and swung at random, hoping to make some sort of contact somewhere on her father. She heard a grunt but didn't look back, focusing on escape rather than wondering on how much damage she had caused to the man.

"Ya little bitch," she heard him growl in pursuit.

Sinker had managed to reach the main street on her hands and knees and finally pushed herself up off the ground and onto her two feet, head spinning. She stumbled forward as she jerked into a run unsuccessfully and fell back to the cobblestones. Large hands encircling her ankles pulled her backwards, the few feet she had gained vanishing. A yell escaped her mouth as the sidewalk scraped against the bare skin that her rolled up shirt sleeves and shorts exposed. "Ya ruined me ya whore," her father erupted, flipping the girl onto her back and slapping her once again across the face, causing her to hiss in pain. Blindly, Sinker swung out her arm, balling her hand into a fist, thumb stuck out straight. A wail opened her eyes as she saw the gash on the side of her father's jaw that her thumbnail had created. She kicked her leg out, making contact with the bigger man's shin, causing him to lurch over and clasp his beefy hands against his leg.

Scrambling to regain her footing, Sinker flopped back onto her stomach and shoved herself away from the ground, sprinting in the opposite direction of her father. But she could hear his heavy footsteps pounding behind her, his enraged yells echoing down the road. And yet no one bothered to stop the heavy man. No one wanted to interfere with their quarrel.

Rounding a corner, Sinker ran full speed into a full chest that huffed indignantly. Morris pushed Sinker away from him. "Well, well," Oscar sneered, "Whatchya runnin' from Sasha?" Sinker stole a glance over her shoulder, calculating the proximity between her father and her. A dark chuckle from Oscar alerted Sinker to the severity of the predicament she had accidentally landed herself in. "Wouldn' be ya fathah, would it?" Sinker whipped her head around to stare at the Delancey's in shock. So they were in on it too. A quick look to her right and she noticed the figure of a man leaning casually against a lamp post with a grin plastered against his face, Bradshaw, one of the ones that had originally thrown her from the side of the boat and into the black death of the cold water. Behind the brothers, sauntering down the street with a chain wrapped around his knuckles, was Tyler, the other henchman of Pulitzer's. She was trapped.

Taking a chance, Sinker punched Oscar under his jaw with a strength she hadn't realized she had, and kneed Morris with an even higher dose of ferocity in the groin. She refused to be taken. As Morris fell to the ground in agony and Oscar stumbled back from the blow, Sinker took off at a sprint.

Bradshaw darted from his post, reaching out to catch Sinker's flailing arm, but brushing only against the cloth of her shirt as she tore in the direction of Brooklyn. It was the only place she could think of at the moment, for the way back to the Manhattan Lodging House was blocked by her father and the injured Delancey brothers.

Taking long, raking breaths, her head began to clear, but the sides of her face pounded as her cheeks swelled at the areas her father had struck mercilessly. Sinker had no idea how she looked, but she was willing to bet it wasn't pretty. She wiped her hand across her forehead, swiping sweat out of her eyes. Luckily, she had been selling in the area of Manhattan that was the shortest distance from the Brooklyn Bridge, not to mention the adrenaline pumping through Sinker's system allowed for a speed she had never perceived herself possible of hitting. Never looking back until she reached the bridge, she slumped over, propping her hands on her dirty, scraped up knees, heaving in exhaustion. She had never run so fast, so far, in her life, but, looking over her shoulder, her mind shot into overdrive as she was reminded just exactly why she had been able to athletically perform so well.

Her father, followed by Bradshaw, Tyler, the Delanceys, and a few other rough men were lagging behind, panting as well. At the sight of her though, they appeared to get their second wind and continued fervently towards her. "Shit," she breathed out, unable to understand why they had continued to follow her. Her father wasn't a forgiving man, she knew that, but she also knew he would have been happy to slap her around and then run her out of town. Someone else was behind their pursuance of her all the way to Brooklyn.

Bucking up and taking another deep breath, Sinker forged on, arriving at the docks, which were eerily deserted for such a hot day. "Where's ev'ryone?" Sinker wondered aloud. It was as if the one time she needed some Brooklyn backup, no one was available or at the ready. A creak off to the side caught Sink's attention and she glanced over just in time to catch Spot pulling himself up onto the side of the docks.

He grabbed his clothes, slowly putting one foot, then the other through his pantlegs. As he was buttoning up his fly, he lazily scanned his territory and finally noticed Sinker, drenched in sweat and panting like a dog. His eyebrows knit together in curious confusion, "Sink?" Sinker gave him a look that said, 'no shit' and collapsed onto the damp surface of the docks. Throwing his shirt to the side, Spot rushed over to where the girl was laying, completely drained of all energy after her long sprint. "Wha's the mattah, Sink?" Spot pressed urgently. His ears perked at the sound of the wood at the beginning of the dock moaning at having to support someone. Or rather a lot of someones as Spot clearly saw the group approaching. "Sink, ya gotta get up; now." It was a direct order from the leader of Brooklyn, but Sinker ignored it, the impact of her father's blows finally catching up to her now that the adrenaline had abandoned her body. "Now!" Spot growled impatiently, hefting the girl up into a sitting position and shaking her violently.

"Huh?" Sinker groaned.

"Get. Up." Spot grunted, supporting her limp weight as he managed to somehow get her onto her feet and moving towards the Brooklyn Lodging House, where Spot knew the vast majority of his newsies were lounging until the evening edition of the papers came out. He figured with some of the bigger guys they could take down Pulitzer's mini-army with ease; but the Lodging House was a few blocks away, and at the sluggish pace Sinker was going, they would never reach it in time.

"Spot?"

He would recognize that voice anywhere. Swiveling his head to the side he took in the surprised face of Box, early in her prophesized visit, thank God. "Box!" he yelled in reply, wanting to scoop her in his arms and never let go. But now was not the time. Box rushed over to the duo that had paused in their journey to the Lodging House. "Box, stay with Sink, I gotta go get the rest," Spot said, not demanding, but begging. Box nodded, wishing she knew just exactly what was going on, but not underestimating Spot's amazingly keen leadership. She may have put it down, but she knew when it came to reality, there was no leader that could match with Spot. Box took up her place supporting Sinker and the last thing Spot told her before taking off was, "Ya might have ta show those sons a bitches just why you'se called Box."

At least that statement was clear, and she nodded gravely as she watched the young man gallop through the streets to summon his own army. She turned her head to see what it was that Spot and Sinker had been fleeing from, and there they were, halfway down the docks, coming straight for them with fire in their eyes and scowls on their faces. Box's nostrils flared as she steered Sinker over to a pile of shipment boxes, propping her up against one. Betwixt stealing worried glances between the oncoming cluster of men, and glancing over her shoulder to see if Spot and the boys were any closer, Box tended to Sinker's swollen cheek and bleeding temple. "You'll be fine, you'll be fine," Box was whispering more to herself than to Sinker, whose head was lolling back every now and again as she tried to focus on Box's face. "Deep breaths, deep breaths," Box directed both of them. Sinker nodded and breathed so fiercely it rattled her ribcage, doubling her over in a coughing fit.

When the approaching band of Pulitzer's hitmen were within fifteen feet of the two girls, Box stood and faced them, arms at her side, fingers twitching in anticipation. She was good in a fight, great in fact. She could beat the best of the best, and she was swift too. But that was when it came down to hand to hand combat, not hand to chains or whatever other type of weapon these men were packing. Taking one last longing look over her shoulder, she saw Spot in the distance with at least twenty boys behind him, spurting up the street like a flood of warriors running to battle. A smile graced her lips as she turned back to the dirty men before her. She lifted her hands and bent her knees slightly, signaling them to bring on what they had up their sleeves.

Morris was the first idiot to take a swing at her, and not a very well thought out one at that. She grabbed his outstretched arm and kneed him in the chest, then brought a fist down on the back of his head, effectively sending him to the ground, where she kicked his side a few times before her attention was diverted to Tyler, who had come to Morris's rescue. Little did he know what Box had in her. And by that time Spot and his newsboys had arrived, some joining the face to face combat, others climbing poles and stacks of shipping equipment in order to shoot off their slingshots with deadly precision.

During the beginnings of the fight, Sinker had been jerked from her sitting position by the calloused hands of one of Pulitzer's men. "Dis da one, Frank?" the man grumbled, dragging her to where Sinker's father was fending off three newsboys and flying pebbles.

"Yeah, Don, that's the one," Sinker's father nodded in recognition, grabbing one of the smaller boys by the scruff of his neck and tossing him to the side. Don, who seemed immune to all pebbles and any newsboy that came his way, dropped Sinker in order to rip the remaining two newsies away from Sinker's father, throwing them with deafening thumps to the wooden boards, then grabbed up the newsgirl and thrusting her at her father. "Good work, Don, take care a the rest," Frank ordered.

Don wobbled off, pushing down newsies here and there without so much as a flinch or weakness. Sinker feably struggled against her father's vice grip, which continually became tighter as he neared the edge of the dock, the water sloshing below the gleam of the afternoon sun that beat down upon the ruckus at the harbor.

Spot was busy fending of Oscar, who, although by himself was a poor excuse of a fighter but once armed with a chain, was quite the handful. Spot was dodging the whip of the chain while stealthily interjecting his own throws when out of the corner of his eye he noticed Sinker's father set her, swaying on her unsteady feet, at the edge of the wooden planks making up the docks. Stepping back, Sinker's father mockingly stretched his arms to the sides in a 'go ahead, hit me' way. Sinker was breathing hard and on the verge of falling not only into the blackness of her shaken mind, but also into the depths of the water below. Still, she raised her fists in the air. Taking a lopsided swing at the man before her, she lost her balance and teetered on her heels, eyes wide in terror as she saw where she was headed. Her father grabbed her by the wrist, spat in her face, and pushed.

"NO!" Spot exploded, jumping past Oscar and his chain and darting in Sinker's direction, but she had already disappeared off the side of the dock.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yeah, I know, it's a bit of a cliffie, but at least it will keep your intrigue, right? Anyway, thanks for reading and, as always, your reviews are much appreciated, even you just say 'nice' or another one word comment :)


	15. Heart Heart Heartbreak

**Author's Note:** I apologize for such a long wait! College has been crushing me! Sadly, this chapter is short, and, besides the epilogue, it is the last. This story didn't turn out as I had originally planned. In fact, I have no idea what the original plot line consisted of, I had given up on this story, but then I got reviews from all you amazing people and this story is now my baby, but it's all grown up. And I have you guys to thank. So I hope you've enjoyed it. Thank you.

**Disclaimer:** Disney owns their stuff, and I hold the rights to mine.

* * *

She was gone. Sinker was _gone_. Out of sight. But Spot plunged into the murky water anyway, desperately searching for a limb of some kind to grab Sinker from the depths. Running out of air, he emerged from the freezing cold and consumed a lungful of oxygen before returning under the waves. Muffled laughter from the docks continued to ring in his ears no matter how deep into the water he swam, striking out in hopes of catching Sinker. Finally, after a few attempts, he felt his hand brush up against someone else's. Clutching at the other hand he shot upward as fast as his body would allow. Breaking the surface he stared down at the pale face that used to belong to Sinker, void of all emotion.

Spot's nostrils flared and his breathing quickened, as if trying to catch up to his rapid heartbeat. "No," he whispered harshly. "No, no, NO!" He was screaming now, grabbing the attention of a few goons on the docks, one of which was Mr. Cohen, who grimaced down at the body of his disowned daughter. He spat, then signaled to the rest of Pulitzer's men.

Dropping whatever newsie they had been beating at the moment, they retreated back in the direction of Manhattan, grinning wickedly at the worn out newsboys that lay strewn about. Box ran to the side of the dock when she noticed Spot heaving Sinker up as gently as he could, but her body was dead weight and hard to handle, even for Spot. Box grabbed Sink's upper body and hauled her further onto the wooden planks, stretching her out and immediately feeling for a pulse. Spot shifted so that his head was resting against Sinker's chest, waiting for a heartbeat to greet his ears. But there was no sound. "No," Spot growled again, grunting as he pulled himself closer before planting his mouth against Sinker's, offering his breath to her. He broke away and pumped her chest, needing a reaction to assure him that he had not failed in his promise to her, his vow to protect her. Getting frustrated he began to curse, pounding the dock's surface and shaking Sinker's limp body.

"Spot!" Box yelled, grabbing his arm, "Stop!" Spot shook his head and drooped into Box's arms, heaving with sobs. Spot Conlon was crying in front of all his boys and didn't care. They averted their eyes respectfully, but they still saw.

"I failed," he whispered.

Box bit her lip and blinked rapidly, holding back tears of her own. She had dealt with death ever since her training as a nurse started, but there was something much more personal about Sinker's death that had caught her off guard, had caught everyone off guard, and that's when her breathing hitched and her voice cracked as she realized, "Someone's got to tell Manhattan."

* * *

The first thing Trip saw when she opened her eyes was Speed pacing around the room, one hand rubbing the bottom of his chin. "Ya look like Spot," she croaked with a grin.

Speed's head snapped up at her voice and he rushed to the bed. "Trip? How ya feelin'?" he questioned hastily, clamping his hand against her forehead. She smiled and pushed his hand away playfully.

"I'se fine Speed," she reassured him. She glanced away, then back to his bright eyes. "What'd I miss?"

Speed sighed. "You don' wanna know," he barely let slip.

Trip's eyebrows knit together, "Whadaya mean by that?" Something was wrong, just by looking at the way his hands were twitching nervously she knew something wasn't right. "Speed?"

"It's Sink," Speed began. Trip's eyes widened slightly. What was with Sinker now? "Her father came after her, chased her with a gang all the way to the docks."

Trip shook her head, trying to process everything, "Why?"

Speed pursed his lips. "We don' know. I'se thinkin' its 'cause she made a fool a Pulitzer. No one messes with him if they know what's good for 'em."

"We have to get down there and help," Trip insisted, sitting up abruptly and grabbing her head as the room spun.

Speed cracked a smile, "Oh no you don', you'se stayin' right here." He trailed off, not meeting her questioning stare. "'Sides," he finally went on with a gulp, his eyes moist, "it's too late now anyway." He bit down on his lip hard and stared at the quilt they had found to cover Trip with.

Trip's eyes searched Speed's face, agony already growing inside her chest and constricting her lungs, "What does that mean?"

Speed opened his mouth, then closed it again, running a shaky hand through his hair. "Sinker's gone."

* * *

Blink sighed, staring out at the setting sun. He was sitting with his knees bent, arms propped up. The ground was cold and wet with the fresh rain that had fallen earlier that day. It had been a week since the fight at the docks. The fight that he hadn't been able to help with. The fight that had taken Sinker away from him permanently. He let his head droop to the side as he took a glance at the haphazardly put together cross that was pounded into the ground next to him at the head of a rectangular area of dirt. "Waitin' for the day I die is gonna be the hardest part, Sink," he whispered. "I can't abandon the boys, but I ain't gonna run from death if it comes for me."

A few leaves blew across the top of the hill that he was perched on as the wind picked up, and in the nanosecond before the sun set, he caught a glimpse of Sinker's silhouette next to him, smiling, with tear tracks down her face. He blinked and she was gone, but not before he felt a cool hand graze his cheek lovingly. His blue eye brightened for the first time in a week, and he knew she was all right, that she too would be waiting for him. And he finally felt that he might be okay.

A rustling behind him made him turn to search for the newcomer. Spot plopped heavily beside the eye-patched young man and sighed as well. "How's it rollin' Blink," he said casually, but somberly. It was their thing now. Every evening they came and sat with Sinker and said nothing and everything to one another.

"She's okay," Blink choked out, receiving a look from Spot. Blink nodded. "She's okay," he repeated. "She let me know. She's okay."

Spot let a small smile grace his face. "I'se glad she did Blink," he said honestly, reaching out and patting Blink's shoulder in reassurance. "I only wish I'd a been heah."

Blink grinned, "I'm sure she'll haunt ya in time."

Spot let out a dry laugh. "I can always hope."

Blink cocked his head in thought. "How's you an' Box?"

At the mention of Box a light entered Spot's eyes. "I got 'er a cat."

"A cat?"

"She used ta have a cat," Spot explained simply.

Blink nodded. "What she name it?"

Spot shrugged. "She ain't thought a nothin' yet. Wants it ta be perfect, she says." There was a pause, then Spot added quietly, "We'se'll see 'er again Blink. And she'll be ready ta greet us when we do."

Blink nodded, looking over at Spot, and then they both returned their gaze to the oncoming dusk.

* * *

**Author's Note:** And so ends that story of Sinker. I'm gonna miss her. So this is the last chapter, but there's also an epilogue that'll be up very soon. Thank you once again for all of your wonderful reviews. I'll miss you guys too!


	16. Epilogue

**One Month Later**

Brindle fur brushed against Mush's bare calf as he sat in silence at the poker table. He bent over and picked up the small kitten that was the newest member to the Brooklyn Lodging House. Absentmindedly he stroked its head, winning a purr from the small creature. Next to Mush sat Blink, his one eye staring dully into space, hardly paying attention to the card game that was taking place before him. Race grabbed up the cards that had been dealt to him and made a face. He gently set his hand on the table, indicating how bad his luck was that day, and Spot ran a hand through his hair. No one was in the mood to gamble.

Spot reached over and patted the kitten's fuzzy side as it burrowed further into Mush's hold. "We still ain't decided on a name for 'er," Spot said quietly to the group. They nodded in unison, not really wanting conversation.

Box and Trip entered the room, making their way over to where the boys sat. Spot couldn't keep the delightful smirk from his face as Box sat on his lap, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck. Trip grinned at them, but the emotion didn't reach her eyes. Happy emotion seldom reached their eyes lately. She walked around the table and squeezed Blink's shoulder, providing as much comfort as Blink would allow anyone to give him. Blink pursed his lips and nodded in thanks and acknowledgment before Trip disappeared up the stairs to meet Speed. The kitten jumped from Mush to Blink's lap and rubbed her nose against Blink's chest as he mindlessly ran his hand over her silky fur.

Race leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head. "I say we call 'er Sink," he spoke, breaking the silence.

Everyone's eyes slowly moved to meet those of Racetrack's. "What?" Spot snapped, an eyebrow raised.

Race bobbed his head at the kitten, "Sink. I say that's what we call 'er."

Blink stiffened and his nostrils widened slightly as he stared intensely at the ball of fur that was now curled up on his legs. It sighed loudly, emitting an engine-like purr. Race, Mush, and Spot glanced at Box, it was her cat, after all. But when they caught the direction of her gaze, they understood that she wanted Blink to make this decision.

The kitten gave a slight sneeze before stretching out on its back, legs spread out at odd angles. The sides of Blink's mouth twitched upward ever so slightly and he nodded. "Sink," he concluded, "Perfect." And the cat continued to purr.


End file.
